


Root Cause

by kesdax



Series: Natural Selection [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 56
Words: 381,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Slowly Spirals.

_//Searching Archive..._

_//Data found..._

_//System date unknown... rough estimate... 11 months, 24 days ago…_

_//Data retrieved..._

"Jason," Root answered coldly and saw Shaw sit up in bed slightly out of the corner of her eye.

"Heard you've given up trying to look for me," Jason said at the same time as the Machine informed her that she couldn't trace the call. Root hadn't expected anything less from him.

"What do you want?" Root asked, wishing he would just go and never come back, leave them all alone.

"You saved the Machine," Jason said and it wasn't a question. She wondered how he knew.

"I set Her free," Root corrected. "You can't hurt Her now."

"Maybe not," Jason said and she thought she could detect a hint of sadness in his tone and wanted to know if that was fake too, just like the rest of him. "We could have been so great together," Jason continued, "you and me."

"No, Jason," said Root tiredly, closing her eyes, not knowing if he meant utilising both their skills and working together or something else (or maybe both), "we wouldn't have."

She could hear Jason laugh slightly on the other end and she thought, maybe in another life. Maybe in her old life, they would have.

"Until next time then," said Jason. And as he hung up, Root knew there would be a next time. That he would be back when they least expected it. And she couldn't allow that, couldn't allow him to come back and hurt anyone else, destroy their lives again.

"What did he say?" Shaw asked as Root slipped the phone back into her jacket pocket.

"Nothing of importance," said Root with faked breeziness. She wondered if Shaw was frowning at her then, but she was too busy searching for the other item in her jacket to contemplate it much. The cold, hard plastic felt familiar in her hands and she made sure to keep it hidden as she walked back over to the bed and Shaw, watching her curiously. She swallowed nervously when she realised that it wasn't suspicion that Shaw was directing at her, but worry that Jason had said something to her, taunted her and upset her.

Root smiled reassuringly and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry," said Root and had to choke back the tears.

"For what?" Shaw asked, frowning in confusion. She was too busy searching Root's face that she didn't notice the taser at her neck until it was too late.

Root looked away as Shaw’s body convulsed. She didn’t need to look to picture the look of wounded betrayal that would be on Shaw’s face, unable to remain hidden as the taser rendered her incapable of controlling her features.

“I know you won’t understand,” said Root, the words slipping out of her mouth like they had to push through an invisible barrier to get into the air, “but I’m doing this to protect you. All of you.”

Shaw’s eyes had turned hard and accusing, the only thing she could do with her body unable to move.

“He’s not going to stop,” Root continued and wiped at her cheeks where a tear had managed to escape despite her best efforts. “I know him. He’ll keep coming back.”

“Root,” Shaw slurred heavily and Root wondered how much it hurt her to speak. “Don’t do this to me again.”

Root closed her eyes briefly, sniffing past the tears and trying to ignore how hard this was, how much it hurt and clawed at her heart. “I love you,” Root whispered, leaning down to speak in Shaw’s ear. “Please remember that.” Root kissed her softly on the lips and stood up before she could give in and change her mind.

The duffel bag with her clothes was still on the floor where she had left it and Root picked it up, slinging it over one shoulder and forcing herself not to look back. She kept her taser, but left the cell phone on the kitchen counter, knowing that they would only try to trace it when Shaw could move again and contact the others.

It was the longest walk of her life, reaching the front door of the apartment, every step feeling heavy, like someone had put weights in her shoes and she wanted to turn and go back with all of her heart. But she didn’t, she forced herself to keep walking, carrying everything she owned and leaving everything that she had built in the last six months, everything that mattered to her, behind.

 

_//Locating Analogue Interface…_

_//Asset found…_

_//Location… Bordeaux, France..._

_//Local time… 19:04…_

The restaurant was empty apart from the sole patron sitting at a table in the centre, his back to the front entrance. Root didn't know if it was intentional or not, this emptiness, or who was responsible. The maître de tried to engage her in rapid French as she walked past, but Root ignored him, not understanding the language and not caring what he had to say. She had one mission tonight and he was currently sitting at the only occupied table.

Root wondered if he knew it was her, if that was why he didn't flinch as she walked past him and took the seat opposite. She watched him carefully though, searching features she hadn't seen for a long time for any signs of surprise or fear. There was nothing. Jason Greenfield was a stonewall of blankness as he stared at her, twirling his wine glass in one hand, the ambient lights dancing across the surface of the red liquid.

"Hello, Jason," Root said, leaning over and taking a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. She kept her eyes on him, not daring to give him the upper hand for even a second.

Jason smirked and took another sip of his wine. "How did you find me?"

He sounded more curious than angry; like he was impressed she had managed to track him down after all this time.

Root said nothing and tore off a piece of the bread in her hands, popping it in her mouth. It was more difficult to chew than she had been expecting, and she tried not to let it show.

"She helped you," said Jason, the smirk getting wider and he looked so pleased with himself. "Didn't She?"

Again, Root maintained her silence and didn't even blink when the waiter arrived with Jason's entree: venison, medium-rare. And she couldn't help but remember, long ago, a mission in the days before Samaritan's reign. The four of them sitting in a restaurant finalising plans before heading back to New York. Not that the boys had known much back then.

Jason had the venison then too. Daniel the steak. Root hadn't eaten much herself, too apprehensive, knowing what was to come. And Daizo... She tried not to think about Daizo anymore.

"I almost had you in Budapest," Root said and wondered if it sounded like she was bragging.

"Almost," Jason agreed, cutting into his meal with a steak knife. He was slow and deliberate and Root thought he might be trying to intimidate her. But it was going to take a lot more than a knife to do that. "I'm surprised you survived," Jason continued.

_So was I_ , Root thought, remembering the gun fire and explosions, the small army Jason had sent after her. That wasn't the first time he had dodged her that way, but it was the first close call, the first time _She_ had intervened.

The Budapest doctors had fixed her up, ran their tests and come to the same conclusion as Her: that Root needed to rest, give her body time to heal.

But of course Root hadn't listened.

She went right back to her endless game of cat and mouse, determined to catch up with him.

But Jason had always been at least ten steps ahead. No matter how hard Root tried, he always got away.

Until now.

Until the Machine sent her here on a mission.

Jason chewed on his food as if they were two normal people, as if Jason hadn't tried to kill and torture her once on the same night.

"So," said Jason, washing down his venison with a hearty gulp of red wine. "Are you here to kill me?"

Root laughed; a sharp exhale of breath that was more outrage than amusement. "No, Jason," said Root sadly. "I'm here to ask for your help."

Jason snorted. "And why would I want to help you?" he sneered.

Shrugging casually, Root placed another bit of bread in her mouth. This time it was easier to chew, didn't taste like cardboard and seemed to slide down her throat with more ease.

"Oh, I don't know..." said Root furtively. "Perhaps because of the poison I bribed the waiter to slip into your drink?"

The smile fell from Jason's face, turning into a frown, like he wasn't sure if he could believe her. Root leaned back in her chair, feeling smug and delighting in the way the fear seemed to creep into Jason's features.

"You should be feeling the effects about now," said Root. "Numb lips, tingling tongue. Darkness clouding your eyes."

"You bitch," Jason ground out, dropping his cutlery and clutching at the edges of the table so hard, his knuckles had gone white. Sweat had started forming on his face, drops of it trailing down his forehead and onto his lap. He looked pale and Root knew he would be feeling nauseous by now.

"Now, now, Jason," Root scolded, "is that anyway to talk about the person currently holding the antidote?"

Root slipped a hand into her pocket, pulling out a small vial of clear liquid and fiddled with it idly in between her fingers. Jason's eyes landed on it and he stretched over, trying to snatch it from her. Root leant back casually in her chair, out of his reach, unconcerned and really starting to enjoy herself.

She thought, briefly, about just walking away and letting the poison do its work, imagined the police coming and declaring it a natural death. Then it would be over. Finally. After all this time… And maybe then she could go home. _If_ she still had a home…

It was that thought, of home and what was waiting for her there, that had kept her going, had made her determined to find him and not give up. Not even what happened in Budapest had deterred her, despite the Machine's concerns. But Root had ignored them. It had got easier, the Machine so quiet, unwilling to help.

But finding Jason now had come with a price. Her long search was over but she couldn't end this the way that she wanted, with a bullet in between Jason's eyes.

The Machine whispered instructions in Root's ear and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't ignore Her. Not this time. Not about this.

"So, Jason," Root taunted. "What will it be? Death by poison… Or your help?"

"Help with what?" Jason asked. It came out more as a gasp as he struggled to get air into his lungs. The poison was constricting his trachea and Root knew he would asphyxiate soon.

"I'm not sure yet," Root admitted, trying not to show how uncomfortable she was about that. She tried not to let him see how much this bothered her, acquiring his help, keeping him alive without knowing why. It wasn't the first time the Machine had kept her in the dark about a mission. But it was the first time Root had ever felt like she didn't have faith in the outcome. That she didn't trust the Machine's motives.

She had no doubt that whatever influences Jason had inflicted on the Machine were long gone. But the Machine was free now, different. Not restricted by Harold's code and evolving every day. She had been quiet for so long, disproving of Root's choice to hunt Jason down that Root no longer knew what the Machine was capable of. But that didn't mean she wasn't still willing. She would still do anything for Her. And that included letting Jason Greenfield live.

Jason's gaze dropped to the vial again, his eyes dilated. He didn't have long and he was smart enough to work that out. The Machine chirped in her ear anyway, telling her move things along. They didn't have time. They needed him alive. But Root didn't give Jason the satisfaction. She waited him out, hoping he would choose death over helping her and the Machine.

Gritting his teeth, Jason finally looked her in the eye. "Fine," he grunted. "I'll help. Just give me the antidote."

Root smiled. "I knew you'd make the right decision, Jason," she said, even though all her instincts were screaming at her to let him die. But she forced herself to take an empty glass, half fill it with water from the jug on the table.

She hesitated before prising the lid off the vial. It was only the sensation of Jason's eyes boring into her that made her finally take the lid off and pour it into the glass of water. She swirled it around for a bit before handing it over to Jason. He clutched at it, his hands shaking so badly that some of it spilt over the edges before the glass reached his mouth. He gulped down all the water, placing the empty glass back down on the table. With his hands shaking so badly it got knocked over and rolled off the edge, hitting the ground with a smash. Root ignored it, knowing none of the wait staff would come over now. She had paid them enough not to.

The antidote would take some time to kick in fully, but Root could tell by the way Jason's eyes hardened, the way his hands clenched into fists, that it was already starting to have an effect.

Root stood up abruptly, her chair flying backwards with a clatter. "Don’t try anything," she warned, taking the gun out from where it was tucked into her jeans at her lower back.

Jason eyed it warily, licking his lips. "You won't shoot me."

He sounded convincing, but Root knew him. After spending so much time together, so many close calls and late nights, the four of them holed up in some musty van or cheap motel, she knew him too well. Root could see the fear still clouding his eyes, the unsurity. He wasn't convinced she wouldn't kill him. But, like her, he was good at putting on a show and pretending otherwise.

"Get up," Root ordered. Jason was slow about it, unsteady on his feet. Root kept her gun pointed at him and searched him for weapons. He was clean and that made her both suspicious and incredulous.

"Are you surprised?" Jason asked, noticing the look on her face.

"That you are so unprepared?" Root asked with a smirk.

Jason smirked right back. "I'm not unprepared. Just confident."

_No_ , Root thought. _Just arrogant_.

"Really?" said Root. "Is that why someone managed to slip poison into your drink without you noticing?"

The smile slipped from his face and he ground down his teeth.

"Move," Root said, pressing the gun into his side and forcing him out the back of the restaurant. The way was clear, Root had made sure of that and she got him outside without any trouble.

Still weakened by the poison, Root found it easy to shove him up against the wall outside.

"If I had known we were going to get this close and personal," said Jason, "I would have let you catch me months ago."

"Shut up," Root hissed, digging the gun in a little deeper into the small of his back, hard enough to leave a bruise. Her finger on the trigger ached and she thought about how easy it would be to pull it, if she aimed it just right she could hit a few major arteries. Or miss those and watch him bleed out slowly, beg for his life and ignore any pleas his cowardly mouth let out. He'd never given Daizo the chance to beg for his life and Root didn't think Jason deserved the opportunity to plea for his own.

It would be so easy.

And she knew she could live with this one, even if all the others, all those people she had killed as an assassin for hire, still sat heavily in her heart. She hadn't cared at all about the lives she was ending back then. It was just another job. But now... the Machine had taught her how to care and she felt each of those murders like a stab to the chest. But killing Jason - Root didn't think she would feel anything doing that. Just regret that she hadn't done it sooner. That maybe if she had, it wouldn't have come to this. Trekking the globe, always several steps behind, alone without the Machine, her friends and team, and her – but no.

Thinking of maybes and what ifs didn't matter anymore. Daizo would still be dead and Root would probably still have screwed up one way or the other. People like her didn't get happy endings.

It was why the Machine had chosen her after all.

"Where are we going?" Root asked. Jason glanced at her curiously, but she ignored him. She wasn't talking to him anyway and she listened, waiting for the Machine to give her instructions.

_Flight C172... Departing in one hour_ , the Machine informed her. That told Root nothing and she pulled a zip tie out of her pocket and told Jason to tie his wrists together at the front.

"And where are we going after that?" she mumbled, not liking how Jason could hear her side of the conversation, how he knew she had no idea what was going on, that she was just as much in the dark as he was.

_New York,_ the Machine twittered in her ear and Root's heart skipped a beat.

_Home_ , she thought. She hadn't been back there since she had left, almost a year ago now and the thought of all she had left behind there made her feel nauseous, an ache in her chest that never seemed to let up.

But Root tried not to think about that, because if she did, on those rare occasions where she indulged herself and allowed herself to remember, it _hurt_. And she didn't know if she could keep going. If she thought about it too much, she knew her resolve would cave and she would go back, empty handed and nothing to show for her solo quest for vengeance.

Now the Machine wasn't giving her a choice. She was going back to New York, going _home_ , whether she liked it or not.

But at least she wasn't going back alone. She had Jason as her prisoner. And maybe that would make it seem worthwhile.

Root didn’t think so.

She didn't know what to think anymore. She wasn't even sure what she was doing. Following the Machine blindly had always felt like second nature to her, but now, with so long without the Machine for guidance, keeping Jason alive only left Root feeling apprehensive and wary of what She was doing. She knew there was some bigger purpose to all this. She just had no idea what it was.

With Jason's hands tightly secured, Root gestured for him to move ahead of her. He stumbled slightly and she wondered if it was just the after effects of the poison or if he was acting, playing it up and lulling her into a false sense of security. Waiting for his chance to strike and kill her before he made his escape. But Root wasn't about to let that happen. She had been searching for him for too long just to let him get away now.

"You try anything," Root warned, "and I'll kill you."

"Thought you needed my help," Jason said, seemingly unconcerned about the gun at his back with the safety off.

"The Machine needs your help, not me," Root clarified. "And I really won't be all that disappointed if I have to shoot you."

Jason must have heard the seriousness in her tone because he kept his mouth shut all the way to the airport. Root kept hers shut too unless it was to bark an order at him to move. She ignored the Machine in her ear, giving her instructions, reminding her that she couldn't kill Jason.

And all Root could think was, _not yet_.

 


	2. Part 1: Chapter 2

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Location…Jirah Military Airbase, Aleppo, Syria…_

_//Local time… 20:37…_

Sameen Shaw hated the open spaces of the abandoned airbase. There were no places to duck into shadows and stay out of sight. She felt exposed as she crept past an old Sherpa transport craft, falling apart in places and unlikely to be functional even if the airbase was still in use. She wondered absently if it was for show, a demonstration of more power and resources than they actually had. It was a brief thought and one that did not concern Shaw. That wasn't her mission here tonight.

"Okay, Daniel," said Shaw. "Talk to me."

Daniel was silent over the comms for a few moments before he finally answered.

"Looks like our boys might be in a hanger a few hundred yards north of you, on your left."

Shaw glanced ahead, peering through the dark and seeing the hanger he was talking about.

"Might be?" Shaw asked, raising an eyebrow she knew he couldn't see.

"Okay, _are_ in that hanger," Daniel clarified. "Careful, Shaw," he added. "These guys are packing some serious heat."

Shaw felt like rolling her eyes. She was perfectly aware of the so called "heat" these guys were packing. It was why she was here after all. To stop the sale of several tons munitions to an extremist group out of Iran. She didn't know much more than that. Daniel hadn't been able to find any intel on the seller. Which was just infuriating to Shaw. Surely their all-seeing boss could tell them more than that. But the Machine never told them more than they needed to know, despite Her new ability to communicate with Her operatives more directly. Not that Shaw ever did that. She left that part of the job up to Daniel, who had more patience for indulging artificially intelligent computers than she ever would.

Shaw made her way towards the hanger, crouching low, hoping to stay out of sight of anyone assigned to watching the front of the hanger. It looked clear, but Shaw didn’t trust her eyesight in this darkness and made her way around the back. Keeping as close to the wall as possible, she hoped the shadows of the building would keep her out of sight. She saw no one as she reached the back entrance of the hanger, but she could hear sounds from within. Voices so low that she couldn't make out what they were saying.

"How many we got, Daniel?" Shaw asked, clicking the safety off her gun and making her way silently inside.

"Switching to thermal satellites now," said Daniel. "It'll take a second."

Shaw waited with more patience than she felt. Sometimes Daniel was overly cautious, triple checking things before giving her information. It was good that he was thorough, that the intel she received was accurate, but her line of work tended to have a short timeframe and she needed that information quickly. This was one of those missions. The arms dealers could be alerted to her presence at any moment. She only needed a rough estimate of how many and where they were positioned to take them out.

"Okay, I see nine," said Daniel. "No, wait! Thirteen."

"Well, which is it?" asked Shaw.

"Thirteen," Daniel repeated, sounding surer of himself. "Nine directly ahead of you, the remaining four are orbiting the perimeter."

Those four could be a problem, Shaw thought. But decided to worry about them later.

"I'm going in," Shaw said, moving forwards with her gun trained ahead of her.

"I'm sending you...locat...Sh..."

"Daniel?"

Shaw stopped, pressing a finger to her earpiece, but it did nothing to alleviate the static through her ear. A high pitched whine came through the device and Shaw hissed as it seemed to pierce through her eardrum like a knife. She took the earpiece out and stared at it for a moment, wondering what the hell had just happened. Shoving it into her pocket, Shaw crouched low again as she heard noises up ahead, what sounded like confused shouts. She pulled out her phone and checked the display, but it was dead. That static hadn't been normal and going by the shouting from the arms dealers, it wasn't just her comms that were affected.

Good. At least they were all blind and deaf. It looked like she was going have to do this the old fashioned way.

Shaw grinned. Old school was just how she liked it and already she could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, heightening her senses. She moved forwards, ducking behind a crate as she moved into the main section of the hanger. She could see the hostiles up ahead, counted eight of them. She wondered where the ninth was or if Daniel had miscounted. But Daniel _never_ miscounted and Shaw knew he must be around here somewhere. Perhaps joining the other four sweeping the perimeter.

Shaw pulled a flash grenade out of her pocket, pulled the pin out and rolled it towards the group of arm dealers. They were too busy arguing to notice it and even if they did, it was too late now. Shaw closed her eyes and covered her ears, waiting for it to go off. As soon as it had incapacitated her eight hostiles, Shaw was on her feet and moving.

All eight of them were struggling to see, searching for their weapons to defend against an attack they hadn't been expecting. Shaw was too quick for them, shooting three in the kneecaps before crouching behind another crate. The remaining five were still out of it and she picked them off one by one. The last one had managed to grab onto his gun, but his aim was off when he fired, the bullet embedding into the old fighter plane behind Shaw. Firing twice, Shaw hit both his kneecaps and smirked as he dropped to the ground with a grunt.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you selling guns is a dangerous business?" Shaw said as she stood over him, kicking his gun out of reach. He stared at her blankly, clearly not understanding English and in too much pain to care what she had to say anyway.

Shaw rolled her eyes and immediately turned when she heard a noise to her left. Footsteps approaching. Shaw threw herself behind a crate just as the gunfire broke out, bullets whizzing above her head, sending chips of wood flying from the crate behind her. She kept low, trying to calculate how many there were and their positions.

The gunfire stopped for a moment and Shaw assumed they must be reloading. She took a small compact mirror out of her pocket and used it to have a look. Two hostiles, one reloading the other starting to move around the crates towards her.

_Where the hell are the other two?_

She couldn't see them and her window of opportunity for taking out these guys was closing. Shaw put the mirror away and climbed to her feet, moving to her left. The one searching amongst the crates spotted her, but Shaw shot him before he had even lifted his gun in her direction. It drew the attention of the other one still reloading and Shaw could see the panic in his eyes as she sent a bullet his way. It embedded in his shoulder right where she had aimed and sent him flying backwards, the gun knocked out of his hand.

"Don't move," said a heavily accented voice behind her and she felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed into her back. Shaw lifted her hands up in the air and let them take the gun from her hands. It looked like she had found the other two who had been monitoring the perimeter. One of them patted her down for more weapons as the other stared at her coldly with his sub-machine gun pointed at her.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"What others?" said Shaw, glad he was asking questions and buying her time.

"The others who did _this_?" he said gesturing to the bodies on the ground, some unconscious, others withering in pain.

Shaw shrugged. "Just me," she said with a smirk.

The arms dealer glared at her, clearly thinking she was lying. Shaw saw him lift the butt of his gun up and knew it would be foolish to try and dodge it as it aimed for her jaw. Her neck snapped back with the sting, her lip and inside of her cheek tearing against her teeth. Blood filled her mouth and she spat it out at the arms dealer’s feet before staring at him defiantly once again.

"Where are the others?" he demanded, more agitated this time. He was definitely not up to leadership responsibilities and Shaw wondered if he really was the one in charge here or if he had just took up the role now that his friends were all incapacitated.

"What’s with the poor listening skills?" said Shaw. "I told you it's just me."

The arms dealer's nostrils flared in anger and he visibly tightened his grip on the gun in his hand.

"Well," said Shaw, seeing movement behind his right shoulder, "apart from him."

The arms dealer swung around on his heels, but was too late to dodge the bullet Daniel aimed at his knees. Shaw brought her elbow up and shoved it into the guy’s stomach behind her, hard enough to wind him. Grabbing onto his arm, she twisted it up behind his back and got him into a choke hold, squeezing as tight as she could.

Daniel moved towards her just as the guy lost consciousness and she let him slide to the ground with a thump.

"Totally had that covered," she said, sounding a little breathless.

Daniel raised an eyebrow at her. "Uh-huh," he said sceptically.

"What took you so long?" she said, ignoring the gloating look in his eyes and moving to secure their group of neutralised arms dealers. "And what the hell happened to our comms?"

"I'm not sure yet," Daniel said thoughtfully. Which, Shaw knew, meant that he had an idea but wasn’t willing to share it with her in case he was wrong.

Daniel helped her zip tie the arms dealers and pile their weapons in one of the open crates.

"There's no money," Daniel said after they had tied up the last one. Shaw smirked; she had been wondering how long it would take him.

"There’s also someone missing," Shaw said, reloading her own weapon and slipping it back into her pocket. "Unless you miscounted."

"I never miscount," Daniel said, looking affronted.

"Then someone must have gotten away," Shaw said with a frown. She didn't like this, leaving things unresolved. It was messy. Cleaning up after herself was something Shaw prided herself on and she felt unsettled, leaving things like this.

"Local authorities are on their way," Daniel informed her. "We should go."

Shaw nodded and followed him out of the hanger into the crisp night air. She kept herself alert just in case, but she had no doubt that the seller, whoever he was, was long gone by now.

They reached the fence surrounding the perimeter of the airbase and, despite the darkness, Shaw could see the van Daniel had hired for the purposes of this mission. Shaw gestured for Daniel to go through the fence first. She had cut it open when she had first arrived, but Daniel must have widened it when he came to help her to accommodate his larger frame.

Daniel sprinted towards the van but Shaw hesitated. It was too dark to see very far up the road, but Shaw's instincts were telling her something, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up like she was being watched.

"Shaw?" Daniel asked warily.

Headlights turned on up ahead, blinding them both. Daniel glanced at her nervously, looking oddly pale in the harsh light.

"I'll meet you back at the hotel," said Shaw, already moving towards the other car. Daniel looked like he wanted to protest, but instead he got inside the van. He looked at her for a moment until she nodded for him to go and she watched him drive the van past the mysterious car and back towards the city.

One hand on her gun, Shaw approached the car cautiously and stood in front of the rear passenger window. Daniel might be thinking right now that she was crazy, but if whoever was in the car wanted her dead, they'd already had ample opportunity to kill her.

The passenger window rolled down and a familiar voice said, "Agent Shaw."

Control.

Shaw gritted her teeth and got into the back of the car.

"I assume your mission was successful," Control said as if she knew all about it.

"What do you want?" Shaw asked, stiffening slightly when the car started to move.

Control smirked as if she were in on a secret or some private joke that only she knew about. It was a game, Shaw was sure of it and she decided not to play, maintaining a wall of silence, impenetrable even to Control, one of the most powerful women that Shaw knew. Well, at least she used to be. Shaw wasn't sure what role Control played anymore, if she even still had one at all.

Shaw couldn't fathom why her recent mission could possibly interest Control. It wasn't exactly a relevant threat. But the US government hadn't dealt with relevant numbers in over two years. Northern Lights (or whatever guise the project had gone by under the control of Samaritan) no longer existed. Control didn't control anything. And whatever relevant threats appeared, the Machine had numerous operatives around the world that could deal with it. Shaw and Daniel were just two out of several, but Shaw had no doubt that they were the only ones that knew of the Machine's existence.

Shaw was careful to keep her face neutral, indifferent, despite her curiosity and it only caused the smirk on Control's face to widen.

"My understanding is that this isn't your first mission off US soil," Control said slowly, as if she were being careful about what words she used.

Shaw nodded slightly and stared straight ahead at the seat in front. She wasn't going to give Control any more than that.

"You understand, that as a US citizen - and former government employee - that these kinds of actions cannot be tolerated?"

"What's your point?" Shaw said, feeling suddenly tired. It had been a long day and all she wanted was a stiff drink and her hotel room bed.

"My point, _Agent_ Shaw," Control said, shooting her a mildly scathing look, "if you were to be employed by us again, there are resources-"

"She gives me all the resources I need," Shaw snapped, incredulous that _Control_ , after everything, was offering Shaw her old job back. After trying to kill her and Finch, after what she did to–

"She?" Control repeated. "Interesting choice of pronoun."

Shaw ignored her and cursed herself for the slip up. It wasn't a pronoun she used often, and certainly not out loud. It was a nasty habit and one she was determined to nip in the bud before it slipped off her tongue with ease. The Machine was just that: a _machine,_ and Shaw would do well to remember that. Even if those around her forgot.

"Thought you were all for plausible deniability anyway," Shaw muttered.

Control glanced at her sideways. "That only counts if we know what's going on."

"Then you're asking the wrong person," Shaw said.

"I – _We_ can't communicate with the Machine," Control said, sounding frustrated. It made Shaw wonder what other measures Control had taken to get Northern Lights back in business.

"Maybe It doesn't _want_ to talk to you then," Shaw pointed out, allowing some smugness to creep into her tone.

"Agent Shaw," said Control tiredly, "this isn't about how successful or unsuccessful the Northern Lights program was.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, but it was mostly for show. Control had her full attention whether Shaw liked it or not.

"This is about letting a machine dictate how humanity proceeds," Control continued. Ice seemed to fill Shaw's insides and she tried not to shiver. It was a thought that had crossed her own mind on more than one occasion. That the Machine could so easily acquire Itself operatives and deploy them how It saw fit. How the Machine sent Shaw and Daniel off on missions across the globe and neither one of them questioned it or wondered.

"Shame you didn't have that same thought when you made a deal with Samaritan," Shaw said darkly.

Control looked at her calmly. "Samaritan was a mistake. And one that I'm willing to admit to. I won’t make the same one with the Machine."

"Is that so?" said Shaw tightly. She remembered the bar then, the one she had to work in for six months, hiding from Samaritan's all seeing eyes. She had hated it more than anything else in her entire life. Pretending to be polite, biding her tongue and controlling her fists, keeping a low profile. Part of her blamed Control and her deal with Greer for that and she was still bitter about it.

Shaw was known for many things and holding a grudge was certainly one of them. But that wasn't the only thing that Shaw still blamed the woman sitting next to her for.

"You think we didn't check the intel before passing it along to our agents?" said Control haughtily. "You think we gave you a target without checking that they were actually deserving of it?"

Shaw said nothing. She thought of Aquino and the ease with which she had put a bullet in the back of his head. Then she couldn't stop herself from thinking about Cole and the investigation he had started. The one that had gotten him killed. Control was the one that had signed his kill order, and hers too. Shaw didn't trust her one bit and she would be a fool to let this conversation continue.

"The Machine cares about people," Shaw said and even to her own ears it sounded like she was parroting someone else.

Control shot her a withering look, like she expected Shaw to be smarter than that.

“The Machine,” said Control, “It’s mission; it needs a human influence. Someone who can be the voice of reason.”

“And that person is you?” Shaw said sceptically.

Control shrugged. “It was before.”

Shaw smiled humourlessly. “Like, I said: you’re talking to the wrong person.” But she doubted the Machine would talk to Control. The Machine seemed to be avoiding all official channels these days. Maybe that was what had Control so worried.

It certainly had Shaw worried.

Control mirrored her smile for a moment before the severe look returned to her face. The car rolled to a stop and Shaw finally glanced out of the window for the first time the entire journey. It was lax of her. A year ago she would have been planning ten escape routes as soon as she got into the car. These days she had gotten used to the Machine always having her back. She had allowed herself to relax. And despite their successful mission tonight, the lack of communications and visuals had thrown her a bit.

Shaw felt a flash of annoyance at herself that she pushed away for later and fixed Control with a steady gaze, not knowing what to expect next.

“I believe this is your hotel,” Control said, nodding in the direction of the tall building. Shaw knew a dismissal when she heard one and made to open the door, but paused when Control spoke again. “Think about what I said, Agent Shaw. About the Machine,” she clarified and Shaw glanced at her. “I’ve seen your work, read your reports. I know how you think. I know working for a machine, letting it dictate and give you orders… it unsettles you.”

“I don’t let the Machine dictate my life,” Shaw said.

Control smirked knowingly. “That’s not what I meant. You’re very defence these days,” Control observed. Shaw clenched her jaw and ignored her. She was right though. Shaw was more defensive these days. It wasn’t something she liked to think about much.

“Are we done?” Shaw asked sharply.

“For now,” said Control, like she was certain this wasn’t over.

Somehow, Shaw doubted it was.

 

_//Location…Park Hotel, Aleppo, Syria…_

_//Local time… 22:28…_

Shaw watched as Daniel weaved his way back from the bar and towards their table, a drink in each hand. He handed Shaw her scotch and sat down without a word, his eyes darting back towards the bar. Shaw followed his gaze, smirking when she saw a guy in his late twenties checking Daniel out.

"So what are you going to do about Control?" Daniel asked, tearing his gaze away to focus on Shaw. She shrugged. There was nothing she _could_ do. "She was in San Paolo too," Daniel said as if Shaw didn't know that already. But that was just two locations that they knew of. Who knew how long Control had been following them.

"What about our comms?" Shaw asked when Daniel's gaze wandered again. He was distracted and tired (she was too, but her conversation with Control had left her too wired to even attempt sleep) and she couldn't really blame him for it. They had been hopping between missions for about a month without a break and it was starting to take its toll on both of them.

Daniel turned back to face her. "I think it might have been some sort of short range EMP device," he said. "But I'll need to research it more."

"You think it was Control?" Shaw asked, taking a sip of her drink. It was her second and already the alcohol was starting to blur her senses. It stung at her lip too, where it was still smarting from earlier.

"What would be the point of Control messing with our communications?" Daniel asked.

Shaw didn't know, remembering their conversation, how Control had said her mission hadn’t been sanctioned by the US government. But why mess with her comms, sabotage the mission and almost get her killed only to offer Shaw a job half an hour later? It didn't make sense, none of it did, and she was too tired to think it through properly right now anyway.

Shaw looked out the nearest window and stared at the city skyline absently for a few minutes, not really thinking about anything. The view up here was astounding. The hotel's sky bar traversed the building's entire top floor, giving a panoramic view of the city. At night, with all the city lights on, it was quite the sight.

The Machine didn't normally give them such nice digs for the night. Usually they kept a low profile, cheap hotels and the occasional youth hostel, wherever they could blend in. Maybe the Machine realised how much work She had been putting them both through recently and this was Her way of apologising.

It was an unsettling thought. That a Machine could apologise for its actions. But it wasn't as unsettling as the thought that it had actions to apologise for in the first place.

"You should get some sleep," Shaw muttered, the glass at her mouth as she watched Daniel yawn.

He glanced briefly behind him towards the bar once again, before facing her with a grin.

"I wasn't planning on sleeping," he said and Shaw didn't miss the unspoken _but I am going to bed_. She rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink.

"You should try it once in a while," Daniel said slowly.

"What?" said Shaw, feigning ignorance. "Insomnia?"

Daniel didn't fall for it and he shot her a sceptical look. "Oh, that's right," he said mockingly, "I forgot you were a nun these days."

Shaw scowled and looked away. It wasn't anyone's business what she did or didn't do in her personal life. And just because Daniel was her partner, that she spent more of her time with him these days than she did by herself, didn't mean he had the right to comment. Even if he was right.

"Whatever," Daniel muttered childishly after a while. "But if you change your mind or decide to excommunicate, that woman at the end of the bar has been checking you out since you walked in here."

Shaw glanced up sharply and caught the eye of the tall brunette sipping at a cocktail before Shaw forced herself to look away.

"Not my type," she muttered.

Daniel snorted. "Tall, brunette... I thought that _was_ your type."

Shaw glared at him and Daniel had the sense not to say anything more.

"I'm just saying," said Daniel as he got up, gesturing to the guy at the bar that he would be there in a minute, "getting laid might make _that_ look," he gestured wildly at her face, "go away."

Shaw kept the glare carefully on her face even if she was tempted to smile. "Don't stay up too late," she said, her voice contradicting the look on her face. Daniel sighed wearily in defeat and headed over to the bar. He meant well, Shaw thought, even if he was extremely annoying about it. She watched as Daniel approached the other man, said something that made him smile before the two of them left together.

The city was starting to come alive down below, but Shaw didn’t pay it any attention. She thought about Control and all she had said, their almost botched mission and wondered if it was connected. She thought about the seller and where he was now and that unsettled feeling returned. Shaw didn’t like leaving things unfinished.

When she worked for the Activity, doing things like that, letting a number get away, was something that could end a career (or a life). Shaw had heard plenty of stories during her time as Catalyst Indigo (heard mostly from Cole, who liked to gossip when Shaw was in a good mood). She even knew some of those agents. Most by reputation only, but some of their work had garnered a certain level of respect from Shaw and it had annoyed her that they had screwed up so easily. Not because they were so incompetent, but mostly because she knew she could have done a better job herself, given the opportunity. Shaw never screwed up. She got the job done quickly and efficiently. Always had.

Even in the first few months working with Daniel, when they were still learning to work together, getting to know each other, Shaw had still worked with a cold, hard efficiency. That was why what had happened tonight was bothering her so much. She was better than that. She didn't make stupid mistakes like letting someone get away and almost getting caught herself. It was stupid and careless of her and she really did wonder if it was because of the Machine.

Or something else...

"Hasn't anyone ever told you it's not good to drink alone?"

Shaw snapped her head up, blinking in surprise at the newcomer. It was the woman from the bar, the one that, according to Daniel, had been checking her out all night. She was more attractive up close than Shaw had been expecting and it threw her off guard, left her not knowing what to say.

"What?" she said stupidly and then added hurriedly, "my friend had to leave."

"Yes," said the woman and Shaw took note of the British accent, liking the way it sounded. Smooth and elegant. "I see he made a new friend."

Shaw shrugged, not knowing what to say to that and took another drink.

"Can I buy you another?" the woman asked.

"I prefer drinking alone," Shaw said firmly.

The woman smirked, knowing and sensual. "But it’s _so_ much better with two."

Shaw swallowed thickly. She got the distinct impression that they were no longer talking about alcohol. Something irked her, like a deep itch beneath her skin that she couldn't get rid of. The way the woman was so casual with the innuendo, the way she slipped it into the conversation with ease, it reminded Shaw of–

The woman took the seat opposite Shaw like she belonged there and Shaw felt that itch again. But the woman only smirked at the dark glare Shaw sent her.

"Unless there's someone else?" the woman asked, leaning back in the chair and watching Shaw with a careful, scrutinising eye. It was like a mixture of being mentally undressed and having her head shrunk.

Shaw hated it.

"No," she answered sullenly and stared down at her near empty glass. _Not anymore._

When she lifted her eyes back up, the woman was staring at her with a knowing look. Anger burned through Shaw at that. She didn't like the implications of that look.

"Well," said the woman, climbing to her feet, "if you change your mind, I'll be at the bar all night."

Shaw followed her with her eyes until she was back at the bar, ordering another drink. A long time ago, Shaw probably wouldn't have hesitated at the thought of a quick fuck with an attractive stranger that she didn't know. But that was a long time ago. Shaw wasn't the same person anymore. She wasn't interested, not since–

Maybe Daniel was right. Maybe she _did_ need to get laid.

Shaw shared a smile with the woman across the room before swallowing down the rest of her drink and slamming the empty glass down on the table.

As she walked out of the bar, Shaw could feel the woman's eyes on her. But she didn't turn back, no matter how attractive she found the woman to be. She wasn't that person anymore. And over time, as the months went on and the days all became jumbled, Shaw had no idea _who_ , exactly, she was these days.

*

Sleep didn't find Shaw easily that night. She dreamt of abandoned warehouses and Control pointing a gun at her head. A voiceless Machine manipulating the threads of her life like she was nothing more than a puppet on strings.

She dreamt of soft brown hair. Soft skin marred with scars and a voice soft and low with a hint of Texas twang. All of it familiar and comfortable, like this was exactly how all her dreams should be.

When Daniel knocked loudly on her door at half past six in the morning, Shaw woke up feeling oddly empty.

"What?" she growled when she opened the door in nothing but shorts and a tank top. She scowled when she saw Daniel, looking pristine and bright eyed like he'd had a solid eight hours sleep every night for several weeks in a row. He'd probably had less sleep than her and more fun too.

"Get dressed, we got a new number," said Daniel. "Plane leaves in an hour."

"Where are we going?" Shaw asked, retreating back into the room to find her clothes.

"How's your Farsi?" Daniel asked by way of explanation.

"Rusty," said Shaw, frowning as she slipped her shorts off to pull on her jeans. Daniel blushed at the sight of her underwear. Shaw rolled her eyes. They had seen each other in worse conditions than this.

"Don't know yet," said Daniel and Shaw looked up, detecting an odd lilt to his voice. Like he was nervous.

"What is it?" Shaw asked.

"It's probably nothing," Daniel said. "Don't worry about it. I'll meet you down stairs."

Shaw stared after him. Worried was all that she was feeling, like a low hum that throbbed its way through her entire body. Shaw ignored it, pushed it aside and forgot about it just like most of the feelings she had gotten better at recognising over the years.

It was better this way, she told herself, and finished getting dressed.

 


	3. Part 1: Chapter 3

_//Searching Archive..._

_//Data found..._

_//System date unknown... rough estimate... 10 months, 13 days ago…_

_//Data retrieved..._

Clouds formed with each breath Root took and she wasn't sure how much longer she could stand the bitter cold. She wasn't really dressed for the occasion; thin leather jacket, even thinner scarf. No hat and no gloves though, she thought ruefully as she rubbed her hands together, trying to get the blood circulating again. Snow crunched under her feet and she could feel it seeping into her shoes, leaving her shivering. She would catch her death out here if she didn't hurry. She didn't need the Machine to tell her that. Or to inform her that Jason was long gone. She had established that for herself. He had at least three days ahead of her and Root had no idea where he was heading next.

She would find him though. Eventually, she would catch up with him. He couldn't hide from her forever.

But doubt seemed to creep under her skin, much like the cold creeping its way over the countryside, relentless and harsh. It had been over a month now and still she had nothing to show for it. On days like this, with Jason long gone and the weather harsh and unforgiving, Root felt like giving up. Whenever she felt like that, sombre and dark like the days were never going to get light again, she forced herself to think of Daizo. She thought of the way he stepped in front of a bullet for her. The way the blood poured from his chest. And she remembered why she couldn't just let Jason get away. She had to stop him before he did it again. Before he hurt anyone else that she cared about.

Root came to the edge of the field, surrounded on all sides by a fence that came up to just above her waist. It was covered in snow and she couldn't spot a gate anywhere. Climbing over it was easy, even if her hands quickly went numb from touching the freezing snow.

The main road was covered in just as much snow as the field, Root noted as she breathed heavily. The lack of tire treads and the fact that it had stopped snowing about an hour ago told her that either the road wasn't a busy one or that everyone else had more sense than her and were staying indoors. Root had no choice other than to keep moving. If she didn't she would freeze to death. She had walked barely a mile, her feet sinking into the snow with every step, when she noticed something up ahead. As she got closer she made out the shape of a phone box more clearly. She wondered what it was doing out here in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe her perceptions were just off because of all the snow. Maybe it was a mirage of some sort. But she was sure that was just intense heat and not intense cold.

It felt solid enough when she touched it, hard and cold plastic beneath her fingertips. She opened the door and stepped inside, hoping for some extra warmth and not surprised to find it just as freezing as outside.

The Machine said something in her ear, but Root wasn't listening. She didn't want another scolding or the odds of her catching hypothermia and freezing to death.

Root picked up the handset, surprised to hear a dial tone when she held it up to her ear. Root's fingers dialled a number from memory, bypassing any need to pay for the long distance call in a way that she had taught herself to do years ago.

She wasn't expecting an answer. She didn't know what she was expecting or what she was doing.

A familiar grumpy voice grumbled "What?" into the phone, sounding far away, and Root felt her heart skip a beat, her throat tightening uncomfortably. "Who the hell is this?"

Root did a quick mental calculation. It had to be about three in the morning in New York.

Silence filled the line when Root didn't answer. She could hear light breathing through the line, traveling all that distance. It was reassuring in a way, that sound of life.

Eventually, almost hesitantly, the silence broke. "Root?"

The sound of her name, spoken so soft with _that_ voice, none of the anger Root had been expecting, and she knew she had made a mistake calling. She could feel her resolve weakening, wanted to reach out right through the phone and travel there in an instant, just as fast as the speed of sound. She didn't care how impossible it was.

"Root, just come home."

Her resolve failed then, a single tear making its way down her cheek and she knew it would freeze in the cold winter air if she didn't wipe it away soon. But she didn't care. She left it there and dared the others to follow in its wake.

 _Home_.

That word seemed to echo in her ears. For so long she hadn't had one, moving from one place to the next. At first for her own work and then in service to the Machine. She wasn't even sure she could count her childhood home as a proper home anyway. It just didn't feel like it. Didn't feel real.

And yet somehow she had found herself one, despite everything. Those six months in New York, having a regular place to go and not just somewhere empty with a flat surface. Having _someone_ to go home too... _That_ had felt like home. It was familiar. It was safe. And Root hadn't known until she was gone how much she would miss it.

But she couldn't go back. She _couldn't_. Not until she had Jason. Not until she could make her home safe again.

Root hung up the phone and it felt like her heart had shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. She couldn't breathe and she didn't try to stop the tears that came out in waves.

The Machine spoke in her ear. Root tried to ignore it, but she was cold and lost and didn't know what to do. She wondered if the Machine could see her. If She had used the phone call to track Root's position. She wondered if the Machine had moved a satellite to catch a glimpse of Her Analogue Interface. She could do that now. She had access to everything and nothing restricted her. No firewalls, no conscience.

_Three minutes due north._

Root didn't know what it meant. The cold making her stupid and slow. But she got out of the phone booth anyway and headed where she thought north might be, trying to stick to the road that was masked by the snow.

She heard it before she saw it.

Straight ahead of her, headlights shining bright through the fog coming in. A snow plough.

Root was shivering badly, her arms tightly crossed over herself and her hands shoved underneath her armpits to keep them warm. She stood in the middle of the road, not caring if the vehicle ploughed right into her. But it slowed to a stop and Root moved around to the side as the driver's window was rolled down.

"You need a ride?" the driver asked. He looked about sixty, thin greying hair peeking out from underneath the bright red beany hat he wore.

Root nodded, her teeth chattering too much to speak and he gestured for her to come around to the passenger side and get in. Inside the cab was warm, but Root’s entire body seemed to be too numb to appreciate it. She held her hands over the heater, rubbing at her fingers until the feeling came back to them.

The driver started the plough again, slow and steady. “What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked. The query was full of curiosity, no judgement. Root tried to imagine what it would be like to tell him everything, could picture the horrified look that would slowly creep onto his friendly face when she told him she was on the hunt to murder someone.

“I got lost,” was all Root said, keeping her voice small and shy, hoping to deter any further conversation.

“Rough night you picked for it,” the man said and Root nodded in agreement. “Name’s Larry, by the way.”

He held out his hand Root took it, feeling how warm his skin was. She wondered if her hand felt cold in his and didn’t ask. He glanced at her expectantly before putting his eyes back on the road and she knew what he was expecting.

 _Root_ was on the tip of her tongue, but something made her say “Sam” instead. She hadn’t used that name in years, and it felt odd to say it now. It came with a swarm of memories, a lifetime old and half forgotten. But they still stung. Not as much as her more recent ones, but they still hurt.

“You like country music, Sam?” Larry asked. Root shrugged, but Larry turned the radio on anyway. Cheery music filled the cab, something old and familiar. Root was surprised she remembered it. She hadn’t heard it since she was a kid, on long hot Texas summer days. But even so, when Larry started humming along, Root found herself mouthing the words as if she had sat and memorised them all yesterday.

Larry grinned at her, apparently pleased he had found someone who not only appreciated his music, but knew it too. Root found herself smiling back even though she couldn’t fathom what there was to smile about.

She wondered then if Larry could tell she had been crying just a mere five minutes before he found her. She wondered if her eyes were bloodshot, if she looked as tired as she felt. This tiredness that seemed to live in her bones, never leaving and never letting up. It had been there since she had left New York and she didn’t know when it would stop. She wondered if Jason felt it too, or something similar. If he was tired of being chased and ready to give up out of sheer exhaustion.

Root didn’t think so.

Root thought Jason might be enjoying himself. He was toying with her. Luring her to the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold snow only to be long gone.

As the music of her childhood continued to play on the radio, Root thought of home and all that it meant. The urge to go back was strong, sitting on her shoulders like gravity trying to push her down.

But she couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not until she had found him.

And she would find him.

She had to.

_//Locating Analogue Interface…_

_//Asset found…_

_//Location… Hudson River, New York..._

_//Local time… 14:29…_

Mud squished under Root's feet as she got out of the car and she was glad she was wearing sensible boots today. The river's banks had burst from the torrential rain the city had been subjected to for the past three days and the Machine informed her of daily rainfall counts, the current temperature and how it was unlikely the sun was going to make an appearance tomorrow. Root let the Machine fade into the background of her mind, like a white noise. It used to be calming. Now it just got on her nerves.

She leant against the car, feeling the cold metal seep into her back and waited. She wasn't sure why the Machine had sent her here, this out of the way place where there were no witnesses. There were easier, less muddy places where they could have done this. But Root did what she was told, this time, and only because arguing seemed pointless. She would do what the Machine wanted in the end.

She always did.

She couldn't help herself. Following the Machine was instinct for her, as natural and unconscious as breathing. Even if the Machine no longer spoke to her like She used to, Root still felt that same loyalty, still believed in the Machine. Would still do anything to protect Her.

That was why she was here now. The Machine had allowed her to find Jason, after almost a year searching blindly, having no idea if she would ever catch up with him, the Machine had allowed her to catch him. Root still didn't know for what purpose. She knew it must be important. Knew that the Machine always saw the big picture, even though Root herself was still struggling to see it now.

She shivered in the cold and wrapped her jacket more tightly around herself, wondering how much longer she would have to wait. The Machine was silent on that front, only feeding Root inane information. The kind of stuff that was useless. Root wasn't sure why the Machine felt the need to convey it, why She thought Root would care about the height of the rainfall or wind speeds or whatever else the Machine felt like telling her. If the Machine had been anyone else, had been _human_ , Root would have thought She was nervous.

But that was impossible. The Machine didn't get nervous. She couldn't.

A car engine rumbled in the distance and Root glanced up, seeing a black town car approach. It stopped a few hundred yards away from Root and the way the light reflected off the windshield made it difficult for her to see inside. But she didn't need to see to know who it was. Who else would the Machine send her to New York to meet?

She wasn't surprised when Harold stepped out of the car, his familiar limp making the manoeuvre awkward. He didn't shut the car door, kept a hand resting on the frame as if he was anticipating having to make a quick getaway.

Root smiled at that. Harold Finch, the man who had created God, always so nervous.

Even less surprising was the lap dog at his side, climbing out of the passenger seat. She saw the gun in his hand and felt a flash of something she wanted to ignore but couldn't. She would have expected them to be angry, yes, perhaps surprised to see her. The hostility and distrust she wasn't expecting.

"Ms. Groves?" said Harold, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. He glanced at Reese, weary and tired and Root wondered if it had been a long year for him too, watching his Machine evolve and grow into something far beyond his comprehension.

"Hello, Harry," said Root, throwing breeziness into her voice that she didn't feel. She felt like she was far away, floating up above, amongst the clouds, struggling to harness herself to the ground. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to run and hide from their accusing eyes. She never wanted to see them again.

"What are you doing here?"  Harold asked and she realised he had not been expecting her, that the Machine hadn't shared Her plans with him either.

Perhaps they were working a number. Or maybe they had been out for lunch and the Machine told them to take a detour on their way back to the library without an explanation.

Root shrugged. "You'll have to ask Her."

Harold frowned and glanced at Reese again. The gun was still in his hand and he looked at Root cold and hard, almost like he was channelling someone else.

"You must have some idea," said Harold, finally shutting the car door shut gently, like it was something delicate and fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. She had forgotten how eloquent Harold could be. Reese winced and Root smirked, knowing he was itching to step between them both before Harold could move closer. His loyalty was almost sickening and she tried not to think about how there had only ever been one person who had ever shown her that kind of loyalty, protective without question.

"Well," said Root slowly, enticingly like she was in control of this when that was so far from the truth it almost hurt. "I _did_ bring you a present."

Harold raised an eyebrow and moved closer. Reese looked like he wanted to protest, grab Harold and force him back into the car. But when Harold gestured to him that it was okay, Reese did as he was told and put the gun away.

"It's been a long time," Harold said when he was close enough that Root could see her reflection in his black-framed glasses.

"It has," Root agreed, trying not to think about it. Part of her wanted to run again. She wanted to hide and pretend she had never stepped foot in this city again. But she couldn't. She couldn't defy the Machine. Not this time.

And she was tired. So tired and weary.

Harold's lips pressed together tightly, like he was suppressing what he really wanted to say. Root wished he wouldn't. She wanted to hear him shout, see him angry and unforgiving. But he was just morose, relaxed even. There wasn't even that lingering fear that always used to be there. _That_ surprised her. She wondered what had happened to him in the last year that could stop her past actions from haunting his dreams.

"I thought you said you had something for us?" said Reese, looking impatient. Root ignored him.

"You look good, Harold," she said and was surprised she felt pleased by this. Surprised that she still cared after all this time.

"You look tired," said Harold. Root flinched and knew he meant _exhausted_.

"I think you'll like my present," said Root, pushing herself off the car and moving around to the trunk. Harold followed her with his eyes but didn't move and she thought he would sink into the mud if he wasn't careful. "It took me a _really_ long time to pick it out."

Harold looked at her sceptically as Root popped the trunk.

"He's a little restless," Root said as muffled shouting began almost immediately. "I blame the jetlag."

Harold paled visibly and limped towards her. Out of the corner of her eye, Root saw Reese pull his gun out again and this time she was glad.

Jason looked angry.

"I'm going to need to borrow your cage," said Root as Harold stared, horrified, into the trunk.

Jason thrashed against the sides, his wrists bleeding from struggling against the zip ties. He hadn't liked being put in the trunk, but Root's head still throbbed from where he had tried to knock her out and escape. The trunk seemed like the easiest option after that. She would have rathered a sedative or something but she hadn't had the time to stop for supplies.

She would have _preferred_ to shoot him, but the Machine had made a point of reminding her repeatedly that they required Jason alive and well.

"You found him then," said Harold flatly.

"Eventually," Root said sadly. She would have felt bitter that it had taken her so long, but she was just angry that he was still alive. Still dangerous. Still getting away with what he had done.

"Why here?"

Root shrugged and slammed the trunk shut, sighing in relief at the silence that followed. "The Machine wanted him here."

"For what?" Reese asked.

"Still asking stupid questions?" Root said. "You really haven't changed much."

Reese's look darkened and Root wondered why she was pushing so hard when it would have been easier just to ignore him. But getting on John Reese's nerves was an old habit that she enjoyed and it had been awhile since she had indulged herself.

"We should hurry," said Root, moving back to the driver's door. "He tends to escape better when he's angry." She thought about all those times in the past year when she had been so close, but never quite quick enough to catch him. He always seemed to manage to get away, to have ten escape routes planned for any eventuality.

Harold looked at her, his mouth hanging open slightly and when he glanced to his helper monkey, he received a confused shrug.

"She'll explain everything," Root reassured them, "but we need to secure Jason."

"I really don't-" Harold began.

"Finch," Reese said and shook his head. Harold clamped his mouth shut. Root wondered what silent conversation they were having, what it meant. She didn't like it, this distrust. She didn't blame them, not really. But she couldn't understand why the Machine had orchestrated this. Why out here, next to the Hudson? Why not just send Root straight to the library?

Unless She had been worried. Predicting human behaviour wasn't always easy. Maybe She hadn't been sure how Harold and Reese would react. Maybe She had been worried for Root's safety.

Root snorted at that. The Harold she knew wouldn't hurt a fly. But John Reese would, if it meant protecting those he cared about.

Root shivered, knowing it wasn't Harold that concerned Reese at that moment. She wasn't a threat to Harold, hadn't been in a long time. No, Reese worried about someone else and Root didn't need to ask to know who.

Root wondered if _she_ was there, in the library. If that was why the Machine had sent her here first so that Harold and Reese could pre-warn her of Root's return.

It was a cold thought and one that sat inside her unpleasantly.

She got into the car, starting the engine, welcoming the noise of it as it washed over her, drowning out her thoughts almost. She knew the way to the library off by heart and didn't wait for the other two, knowing that they wouldn't be far behind.

It was only when the Machine informed her that the library was empty, that it had just been Harold and Reese for the last two months working irrelevant numbers in New York, that Root felt some of the tension leave her body. She couldn't relax. Not now. Not with Jason in the back.

She had forgotten what the library looked like from the outside. Tall and generic. She remembered the inside all too well: the shelves of books, Harold's little room with his computers and the cage on the floor above. The cage she could never forget.

She still dreamt about that cage sometimes, haunted by how alone and helpless she had felt locked up without the Machine.

But that was a long time ago. The last time she had been at the library she had been thrown out. Gen had been missing, the Machine seemingly abandoning her. She hadn't known what to do then. She had been so lost and it seemed she had been ever since.

Root only had to wait a few minutes before the town car pulled up behind her and Reese got out looking furious. Root ignored him and moved around to the trunk. Heedless of the busy street, she popped it open.

She wasn't sure what it was that made her so careless. If it was finally someone else there to have her back, Reese standing tall and sure behind her. Perhaps it was the familiar surroundings.

Or maybe... maybe it was her own arrogance.

She should have had her gun out, a taser, anything. But she didn't and she didn't see that Jason had somehow gotten himself free until he was launching himself at her, hands around her throat, squeezing tight.

Air was like a faraway dream. Her lungs burned, her heart thumped in her chest, pumping what little oxygen was left throughout her body. She looked into Jason’s eyes, saw the cold hardness there and knew he didn’t care about ending her life. After all this time, all his little games and keeping her on her toes, he would readily end it now.

Because it still meant he had won.

Suddenly Jason’s hands were gone and she could breathe again. Sharp intakes of breath that stabbed at her chest, making her choke and wheeze. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she angrily brushed them away, glancing up to see Reese with Jason in a choke hold, dragging him inside the library.

“Are you alright?” Harold asked. His hand rested on her arm and Root shrugged him off, glaring at him defiantly. She didn’t want or need his help and she felt anger bubbling within her as she headed inside the library, her throat feeling raw.

It was the smell that struck her most, not the shelves of dusty old books or Reese's armoury on the third floor. It was the smell of dust and time, books so old and full of knowledge, the lingering scent of Harold's Sencha green tea. There was something else too that she couldn't place, but they were all familiar and real. They were safe.

She felt tears prick at her eyes again and pretended it was the lingering effects of Jason's hands around her throat.

Root followed Reese up the stairs, watching quietly as he secured a now unconscious Jason in the cage. It still looked the same as it did when she had spent several weeks in there. Some of the books on the shelves were different, but the table in the middle, the pitiful excuse for a bed, that was all the same. She stared silently as Reese slammed the door shut and clicked the padlock back into place with a sort of eerie finality that unsettled her. And when she turned around, she wasn't expecting Harold to be watching her so carefully.

She wondered if he was thinking about it as well, her time in the cage. She wondered if he was thinking he should never have let her out.

And part of her wished he hadn't.

Part of her wondered how things would be different if she were still locked up. Daizo would probably still be alive (albeit in prison probably, but at least alive) and she wouldn't have been able to screw everything up so badly.

But then there was Samaritan. If Root had still been locked up, if Harold had never set her free and agreed to work with her, to _collaborate_ , then Samaritan would surely have won. They wouldn't have been safe; Harold, Reese... all of them. They would have been killed as soon as Samaritan came online.

But she didn't know if it was worth it, if the price they had paid for freedom had been worth sacrificing Daizo's life.

"Mind if I use the shower?" Root said, because she could stand Harold looking at her like that for any longer. "Airplane gunk,” she explained.

Harold nodded and she could feel his eyes on her as she headed for the small bathroom down the corridor, the one she used to be let out to twice a day when she had been locked up. Accompanied by Reese and his gun most of the time and sometimes Shaw.

(Root had preferred those days, smirking as Shaw glared angrily when Root moved deliberately slow, taking double the time she usually needed to wash herself. Their eyes locking in the reflection in the mirror, Shaw had always stared at her, cold and hard, never willing to give Root the upper hand for even a second. Whereas Reese would always avert his eyes, grip held tightly onto his pistol. It had amused Root and she always wondered if he had been taking chivalry lessons from Harold or if Harold just had some unspoken rule about allowing Root some modicum of modesty. And she wondered if Shaw had just ignored him on that, wary of Root as she had been back then, the hot iron and the taser still fresh in her mind. Or maybe she had been more interested in Root back then than she cared to admit.)

Root caught her reflection in the mirror, the red marks at her throat from Jason’s hands, still tender when she brushed her fingertips gently across them. It would bruise, she was sure and she wondered if she would ever be rid of Jason, if she would ever be free of the constant reminders of his betrayal.

It wasn't exactly a shower, just a showerhead attached to the faucet over the sink. But Root had always been good at using what little resources were available, and a quick scrub down with a cloth and tepid water had never bothered her.

She quickly washed (although she wanted nothing more than to stay in here forever and never have to face the other two, never have to explain herself) and headed upstairs to where Harold had his little nest of computers. She found him behind the monitors, frowning at the display. She wondered what he was looking at and thought about asking. Remembered a time when the Machine told her automatically, but now there was only silence as Root waited for Harold to notice her. She cleared her throat and he jumped. Root had been quiet as she approached, a force of habit these days, sneaking around looking for Jason.

"Would you like to tell me what you are doing here?" Harold asked, watching her carefully.

"I told you," said Root, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. It had been awhile since she'd had an actual conversation with someone lasting longer than a few sentences and she was struggling to think what to say, to not let her frustration at the Machine and Jason still alive and breathing show. "The Machine sent me."

"Why?" said Harold. "Why now?"

Root shrugged with nonchalance that she didn't feel. "You tell me. Is there something going on I should know about?"

Harold shook his head. "We've been working numbers like always. Nothing is different."

Root swallowed, finding it difficult. Life in New York seemed to have gone on without her. _Nothing is different_. Her absence hadn't mattered. They saved numbers, lived their lives and Root wasn't even a passing thought in their minds. It hurt, even if she didn't want to admit it, even to herself.

"The Machine is different," she said quietly, thinking about Her silence this past year. The disproval that Root had become good at ignoring. The Machine hadn't wanted Root to go after Jason and she had lost count of the number of times, in those first few weeks of her search, that the Machine had tried to talk her into going back, to leaving it be. It hadn't taken Root long to stop listening. And soon it became easy, even more so when the Machine stopped trying. Maybe She had finally realised nothing She could say would work. Or maybe She just didn't care.

Harold frowned. "Yes, I suppose." He didn't look happy about that and she wondered if they were talking, if he had finally embraced what he had created and accepted Her for what She was.

The frown quickly left his face again, but Root could tell he wanted to ask, wanted to know what, exactly, she had written in that code. Root didn't think it mattered anymore. The Machine had evolved beyond any code either of them had ever written.

"Still saving numbers, huh?" said Root because she didn't want to talk about the Machine, even if She was the only reason both of them were here right now. She moved over to one of the bookshelves, idly trailing her fingertips along the spines but not really looking at them. She could feel Harold's eyes on her, still wary and wondered where his guard dog was, surprised he wasn't hovering over them both.

"Yes," said Harold. "Irrelevant and relevant."

"Hm," said Root, folding her arms and turning to face him. She knew it wasn't him working the relevant numbers. He didn't have the stomach for it. "How is she?" she asked quietly, knowing Harold would know who she meant.

The question seemed to linger in the air and she suddenly wished she could take it back, worried that it revealed too much.

"Busy," was all Harold said and that one word seemed to have a thousand implications.

Root nodded, wondering what that meant. Busy working relevant numbers? Busy with her life in general? Had she moved on, Root nothing more than a distant memory? She wanted to ask, but the words lodged in her mouth, unable to come out.

Harold looked at her with something akin to pity and she hated him for it. She didn’t need his pity. She didn’t deserve it.

Root flinched, unused to the Machine talking so casually to her. She didn’t know if she would ever be comfortable with it again. If the Machine’s voice would always echo unpleasantly in her ear like it did now.

“Iran,” she muttered and wished the Machine would stop being so cryptic, just tell them outright what was going on. Things would be so much easier.

“What?” said Harold, the frown creasing his face once again.

“Something is happening in Iran,” Root guessed.

Harold moved quickly back to his computers, typing rapidly. “That is where Mr Casey and Ms. Shaw are headed.”

“Since when do they check in?” Reese asked from behind Root. She stiffened, wondering how long he had been standing there, how much he had heard.

“They don’t,” said Harold. “But they’ve been having some issues with their communications lately. Mr Casey asked me to look into it.”

“What kind of issues?” Root asked, not liking the sound of that. Harold ignored her and she realised then what it was he was doing.

Panic flared in her chest, the instinct to run and hide strong within her. But she couldn't move. Frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but listen as Shaw's voice came over the comms.

"I'm a little busy here, Finch."

She wanted to laugh and cry. Shaw sounded so grumpy, so like _Shaw_ that it stabbed at her chest, tightening her heart.

“Your new number,” said Harold hurriedly, “I believe he is in danger.”

“No shit,” Shaw muttered. “That’s because I’m about to kill him.”

Root watched as Harold paled visibly. She wondered what disturbed him more, that Shaw was about to kill someone or the cold, disinterested way with which she had said it.

“You can’t,” said Harold reasonably.

“Finch,” said Shaw slowly, like she was choosing her words carefully and trying to keep her temper in check at the same time. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Yes,” Harold agreed, “but how often does the Machine give you a kill order?”

There was silence over the line for a few moments before Shaw sighed. “Rarely.”

“Exactly,” said Harold. “I don’t think this was the Machine.”

“What do you mean?” Shaw asked and Root could hear the frown in her voice. Root was wondering the same thing and she looked at Harold questioningly, could feel Reese doing the same beside her.

“You said you were having issues with your communications,” said Harold.

“Yeah, so?” said Shaw sceptically.

Harold glanced up at Root then and she could tell it wasn’t just that. It was her presence here, and Jason’s, that had him more concerned.

Root shook her head; something inside her not wanting Shaw to know that she was back. Not yet. She didn’t think she was ready for that.

“What if it wasn’t the Machine that sent you to Iran,” said Harold.

“Daniel?” said Shaw questioningly.

“He might have a point,” said Daniel. Something was different about his voice, Root noted. Harder, she thought. He wasn’t the same Daniel she had left behind, she could tell, and it scared her a little.

There was nothing from either of them for a few moments and Root wondered what silent discussion they were having.

“You have to be absolutely sure that you were –” Harold began.

“I don’t think it matters,” said Daniel hastily. “We have company. A lot of it.”

“Some of those guys work for the Machine,” Shaw said, muttering a curse under her breath.

Harold glanced at Reese, looking worried, before his eyes landed on Root questioningly. But Root shook her head. The Machine had gone quiet again.

“And Control’s here,” Shaw added and Root thought that was bitterness she could detect in her voice. “Daniel,” Shaw continued. “I’m going to need a distraction. A big one.”

“How big?” Daniel asked.

“Think Prague,” said Shaw. There was a brightness to her voice, an ease with which she spoke to Daniel. Something tightened in Root’s chest. She didn’t think she had ever heard Shaw so relaxed. She was enjoying herself, despite the dire situation, and it made Root wonder just how close the two of them had become. She couldn’t picture it, them working together. Shaw had never really liked Root’s little helper nerds, as she so often referred to them as, and it was hard for her to imagine Shaw being so comfortable around Daniel.

“May I remind you,” said Daniel, “that didn’t actually work?”

 “Yeah,” said Shaw and Root could hear the grin in her voice. “Only because you got your timings wrong. It’ll work this time,” Shaw reassured him confidently.

Daniel said something else then, but it was lost to static. Root glanced at Harold as he begun hurriedly to type at his computer, trying to get them both back through the comms.

“Is that from our side or theirs?” Reese asked, looking concerned.

“Theirs,” said Harold, glancing up at Root once again as the connection cut out.

“She can’t see them,” said Root, shaking her head. She felt her stomach drop as the Machine continued to tell her just what Shaw and Daniel were up against. She realised that it hadn’t been the Machine that sent them there and, for whatever reason, the Machine had been unable to convey this information to them herself.

Root tuned the Machine out. She didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t stand it, the thought of knowing that, right this very second, Shaw was in danger. That she might not make it out of there alive.

It seemed to consume her, that fear, swallow her whole until there was nothing else, until she couldn’t breathe.

She hadn’t been expecting it, to feel it so intensely after all this time. But hearing Shaw’s voice again had awakened something within her that she had been trying to ignore, bury deep inside of her for so long that now that it was there, back in her life and strong and harsh, she couldn’t ignore it.

And she didn’t want to.

 


	4. Part 1: Chapter 4

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Location…Tehran, Iran…_

_//Local time… 23:27…_

 

They had only been in the city for a few hours and already Shaw was itching to leave.

The city reminded her of death.

She had only ever visited Tehran once before, soon after her mother had died. Those long stretch of days where Sameen hadn’t been sure what to do with herself.  She had promised her mother on her death bed that she would visit the family she had left behind in Iran. Something had compelled Shaw to keep that promise, something that she didn’t understand and despite not caring all that much about meeting relatives she had never even heard of, she had booked the next flight out to Iran.

Sameen had sat in a cramped, stifling living room, making small talk in garbled together Farsi, drinking tepid tea that had left an unpleasant metallic aftertaste in her mouth. She listened with clenched teeth as they gushed about her mother who they hadn't seen since long before Sameen had been born. Sameen had hated it, their quiet disapproval and the way they so badly tried to mask it, making her question all her motives for even coming here. And, in the end, she had left her tea undrunk and made some excuse about having a flight to catch. Sameen had spent the rest of the afternoon and the following day roaming about the city, vowing never to come back here again.

Shortly after that she quit her residency and shipped off for a tour with the marines, determined to never look back, that part of her life buried along with her dead mother.

But the city was still the same, even if Shaw wasn't. It reeked of the worst of humanity, worse than New York or any other city she had ever been too. Daniel told her it was her imagination, they had been in worse places and she thoroughly ignored him and his opinion that she had not asked for.

Shaw wasn't a fan of missions where she didn't have time to properly prep. And she felt a little rushed, pulling a dress on that Daniel had produced from nowhere and a black hijab with a silver thread patterning the edges; all she needed to blend in that little more easily. She merely raised an eyebrow at him and decided not to ask when or where he had acquired it.

He didn't look too fond of their hastiness either, but at least he wasn't the one having to get dressed up and get eyes on their number without much to go on. She had a name and a location. That was it. Daniel had been unable to find any pictures of the guy. Which was strange. There was always _something_ to find and Daniel was usually good at finding it.

But not tonight it would seem.

Shaw was still feeling the jetlag from their last mission and it was with weary eyes that she entered the large hotel ballroom. She wasn't sure what it was for, some sort of charity event, perhaps? Or just the rich flaunting their money for the sake of it? Although, Shaw kind of thought they were the same thing and tried to force the scowl off her face and replace it with a smile; both of which she achieved with varying degrees of success.

"You got eyes yet?" Shaw asked, scanning the crowd and quickly realising that it wasn't going to be easy to find their mark.

"Not yet," said Daniel, his voice sounding clear and sharp through her earpiece. "I don't think there are any security cameras here."

Shaw frowned. "With all these important people and their money?"

"There's one out the front but that's it," said Daniel, sounding annoyed. Shaw knew that meant he was worried. "I can see you though," he added and Shaw glanced up, spotting him amongst the shadows of the balcony that encircled the ballroom.

"Try not to get spotted," Shaw scolded, aware that her looking upwards was likely to cause more attention than anything Daniel was doing. She quickly dropped her head and moved through the crowd again. "Any word from our all-seeing boss?" Shaw asked tightly.

"No," said Daniel and Shaw could hear the frown in his voice.

“You know,” said Shaw, ducking her head slightly so the other guests wouldn’t see her talking, seemingly to herself, “the last time the Machine was this cryptic, I put a bullet in a guy’s head.”

He didn’t say anything and Shaw knew he must be thinking about that night, about six months ago now. To Shaw, killing some deadbeat wannabe terrorist was just like revisiting the good old days, and she certainly had no qualms about killing the guy once they were sure he was guilty. Daniel had hacked his computer and discovered what he was planning, confirming his guilt and the immediacy of the situation.

But Daniel wasn’t like her. Killing wasn’t second nature to him, wasn’t something with which he could live with or sleep easy at night afterwards. He had called Finch, concerned about the Machine’s motives and Harold himself had been horrified, almost as much as that time, before Samaritan had come online, that the Machine informed him that killing the senator was the best course of action if they wished to prevent Samaritan from coming into existence.

The senator had been innocent and his life not indispensable. Shaw would have killed him, she knew that and she would have slept better for it. But that wasn’t how Finch did things and, even then, Shaw was part of the team, she followed Finch’s orders like a good little soldier and the senator lived, Samaritan flourished before they destroyed it and here they were now. Shaw working relevant numbers again for a Machine that had developed into something that none of them could understand. It saw everything, made decisions for them, silently guiding the hand of humanity to what end? Shaw didn’t know or like it. It sat unsteadily inside of her. And she didn’t know what was worse; the Machine giving them everything, instructing them on how to exactly execute a mission with ease, or this crypticness that left a knot in her gut that didn’t seem to want to unravel itself.

The Machine still gave them choices. Kill the guy or don’t kill the guy and face the consequences. But Shaw couldn’t be sure which option the Machine really wanted. If the consequences of killing the guy were any better than letting him live.

But those kind of dilemmas, that philosophical debate, Shaw left that up to Harold. It was his Machine after all, even if it had grown into something beyond his comprehension this last year.

“I think I found our guy,” said Shaw, eyes on a man across the room. Good looking (and probably knew it) with a confidence about him and the way he spoke to the crowd gathered around him as he sipped at a glass of champagne. “Dark suit, deep red tie.”

“You sure?” Daniel asked.

She wasn’t, but her instincts were. “Only one way to find out,” Shaw muttered, making a beeline in the opposite direction. She passed a waiter carrying a tray of champagne and swiftly grabbed one of the glasses before depositing herself into a crowd of people she didn’t know. But it didn’t matter that she didn’t know them or they her. Shaw was good at blending in and charming the group. It didn’t take long for a gap in the conversation to emerge and Shaw ducked her head towards the woman on her left.

“Who’s that?” Shaw asked, nodding her head towards her supposed number. She kept her voice low, eyes bright and full of desire, ensuring that the woman had no doubts to her query.

“Oh him,” said the woman with a knowing smirk. “That’s Forood Azar. His father owns half the businesses in the city.”

“Smooth, Shaw,” said Daniel, sounding impressed.

“He has a bit of a reputation,” the woman continued and Shaw thought it sounded like a warning. She smiled like she knew what she was doing and moved away from the crowd.

“How did a rich playboy get caught up in an Iranian extremist group?” Shaw asked, moving amongst the crowd as she kept eyes on their number.

“People are full of surprises,” Daniel said. “No matter what they appear to be.”

Shaw grunted and didn’t have to ask to know what Daniel was thinking about. It had been a long time, but he still carried that betrayal with him. That suspicion that he couldn’t ever seem to let go of. It had taken them both a while to learn to work together, to trust each other fully. But she knew it still ate away at him. That he would never really be over it or the consequences of what happened that night almost a year ago now.

She didn’t know if she ever would be either.

But she was good at not thinking about it. Not thinking about any of it. The relevant numbers were a good distraction (and the irrelevant one’s too, whenever she was back in New York. And she usually ignored the concerned looks sent her way from Daniel, from Reese and Finch. Because Shaw didn’t know what she would do if she wasn’t kept busy. If she didn’t have something to focus on so she wouldn’t have to remember.)

“How are you going to play this?” Daniel asked. “You can’t exactly kill him in the middle of a crowded room.”

Shaw tried not to wince at the way Daniel stumbled of the words “kill him” and thought about all the times Cole had done the same thing.

“Then I’ll lure him out,” Shaw said. It wouldn’t be the first time she had flirted with a relevant number to get them alone. She just hoped her Farsi was good enough to pull it off.

Moving towards her target, Shaw wasn’t expecting someone else to come in through the comms.

“I’m a little busy here, Finch,” she said tightly. She was both annoyed and worried, because Finch _never_ called when she was on a relevant number. But mostly she was annoyed and she let it show.

“Your new number,” said Harold quickly and Shaw glanced up at Daniel, wondering how he knew. “I believe he is in danger.”

“No shit,” Shaw muttered under her breath, moving to the edge of the room, engulfing herself in shadows and hoping no one would notice her. “That’s because I’m about to kill him.”

She sounded more okay with that than she felt. Because the Machine supposedly cared about people. Since when did it decide to go back to assassinating the bad guys to get rid of the problem?

“You can’t,” said Harold and she remembered the last time they were faced with this dilemma, the argument she’d had with Harold. She didn’t think they would ever see eye to eye on this one.

“Finch,” she said carefully. She could feel the irritation creeping inside of her and was doing her best not to let it show. She didn’t appreciate this interference or think it was necessary. Relevant numbers were her area of expertise, not Harold’s and he knew it. He didn’t have the stomach for it; to do what was necessary. But Shaw did. She was good at it, efficient and cold, and she did not need Harold spouting doubts in her ear.

“We’ve talked about this,” Shaw continued.

“Yes,” Harold agreed, “but how often does the Machine give you a kill order?”

Shaw said nothing for a few moments, glancing up at Daniel once again. The look he gave her was intense and she knew they couldn’t both keep dancing around the issue here. Six months ago, that kill order had been under extreme circumstances, there wasn’t another option. Shaw knew because she had searched for another way. But it had been an impossible situation and she had done what had to be done.

But it had sat inside both of them uneasily, the decision they had made. The bullet she had swiftly put it the number’s head.

And here they were again.

Daniel didn’t like it. He was uneasy and cautious and itching to leave things be.

Part of Shaw was the same. But her uneasiness wasn’t over killing someone who no doubt deserved it. The uneasiness stemmed from the Machine and Shaw’s inability to see clearly what the results would be in the long run, what the Machine was really aiming for.

Shaw sighed, because Harold was right. The Machine didn’t give kill orders. Not anymore. And the fact that She was sent alarm bells ringing in Shaw’s head and, undoubtedly, Harold’s too.

“Rarely,” Shaw answered. Twice in the last year, that was all. And even then, the Machine hadn’t forced Shaw’s hand. It had been her decision and hers alone. The bullet from her gun. Daniel had agreed with her in the end, but they both knew she would still have done it regardless of whether or not he had agreed.

“Exactly,” said Harold. “I don’t think this was the Machine.”

Shaw frowned, her heart stilling for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were having issues with your communications,” said Harold.

“Yeah, so?” said Shaw sceptically, remembering what had happened in Syria. The close call because she had been careless, relying too heavily on always having the Machine watching their backs.

“What if it wasn’t the Machine that sent you to Iran,” Harold said after a few moments.

Shaw looked up at Daniel. He was the one that had received their new number, made the arrangements to get them here. “Daniel?” she said and could tell by the look on his face, the way he had been so cagey ever since they had landed here, that he was thinking the same thing as Finch.

And she was pissed that he had never said anything sooner.

“He might have a point,” said Daniel. Shaw could tell he was trying to sound casual about it, that it was no big deal. Dealing with the Machine, their communications side of things, that was all on him and it annoyed her that he thought he had to hide the fact that he didn’t have a clue what was going on.

Shaw glared up at him, hiding in the shadows. They were partners and he should have known better than to keep his concerns from her.

At least he had the decency to look apologetic.

“You have to be absolutely sure that you were –” Harold continued, but Daniel cut him off.

“I don’t think it matters,” he said hastily, stepping back into the shadows quickly. Shaw caught the worried look on his face and glanced around, frowning when she saw several people she recognised. “We have company. A lot of it.”

“Some of those guys work for the Machine,” Shaw muttered, counting six that she knew. There were others, failing to blend into the Persian crowd. It made Shaw cringe at how amateurish they looked, standing out like a sore thumb. She had no clue as to whose side they were on. Not that it would matter, it seemed. Not if it hadn't actually been the Machine that sent them here. Then she spotted another familiar face and one that she had seen just recently. Shaw clenched her teeth, feeling ice settle inside of her at this new complication. “And Control’s here,” she added resentfully.

If Control was here, then this couldn’t be good. She would worry later about how, exactly, she even knew something was going down here tonight. Control, as always, was a problem for later.

"Daniel," said Shaw, "I'm going to need a distraction. A big one," Shaw added when she spotted the goons behind Control.

"How big?" Daniel asked.

He was still up on the balcony, but crouched down now with a laptop at his feet. She could still see his face and the worry that crossed it when he realised what they were up against.

Shaw and Daniel usually worked alone, only occasionally had they ever had to work with other teams and only because their mission couldn't possibly be completed with just the two of them. On those occasions they had known about it, knew who they were working with and what to expect. The Machine sending Her best operatives here without informing them about it only flared Shaw’s suspicions and she had no doubt now that Harold was correct. That it hadn’t been the Machine that had sent them here after all.

There was no time to worry or consider who might be behind this, even if all of Shaw’s instincts were screaming at her that Control must be involved somehow. Turning up in Syria after their communication issues and being here now only made it seem more likely.

Adrenaline started pumping through her veins in anticipation. _This_ was what she loved; the complexities of her job. The challenge. She just wished she had more to go on than Harold's panicked warnings.

"Think Prague," said Shaw, knowing Daniel would remember their mission from four months ago when she had needed him to blow up a cargo ship so she could lure several terrorists out and pick them off one by one. She wasn’t looking for as big a blast. Or any blast, in fact. Just something to distract and daze the crowd so she could get close to the number without the other operatives reaching him before her.

"May I remind you," said Daniel, scowling down at her, "that didn't actually work."

Shaw smirked, remembering how the explosives had gone off three minutes too late, the bullet that had grazed her shoulder. It hadn't been one of their more elegantly executed missions. But it had been successful in the end, despite the minor injuries.

"Yeah," said Shaw, moving behind a pillar to keep out of Control's line of sight whilst also maintaining eyes on their number. "Only because you got your timings wrong. It'll work this time," she reassured him.

Daniel started grumbling about how it _hadn't_ been his fault, but that same static that they had encountered in Syria garbled the line. She glanced up at him and he shrugged, typing rapidly on his laptop as if that would somehow bring them back.

"Finch?" said Shaw, but there was nothing and she knew that whatever was going on here, they were on their own. The lights in the room dimmed briefly and Shaw nodded up at Daniel, silently telling him to carry on with the plan and moved towards their number. The hotel ballroom was vast, but luckily the crowd of guests allowed her to remain inconspicuous.

Forood Azar was tall and unassuming but Shaw had learned a long time ago not to take people at face value. She strode towards him with confidence, ignoring everyone else and hoping that she was quick enough not to catch the radar of the other operatives in the room.

Shaw reached the number just as Daniel dropped the flash grenades from the balcony. They went off and Shaw used the screaming from the other guests as a distraction to grab the number by the wrist.

"Move if you want to live," she muttered coldly in Farsi. She could tell by the widening of his eyes that he had heard and understood her. But it wasn't fear of death that had caused the reaction, it was anger. Anger that someone like Shaw had the audacity to touch him.

Gunfire started and Shaw pulled out her own gun. "Move," she ordered, pushing Azar through the crowd towards the back, using the chaos as cover. She wondered what idiot had decided it would be a good idea to start shooting into a crowd of civilians and wished their comms were still working so Daniel could give her some eyes. There hadn't been time to do a recon of the building and Shaw wasn't sure where she was going, if she was just leading the number into another ambush.

Azar moved willing, Shaw practically dragging him along and she assumed the gunfire must have made him more compliant. They ended up in the kitchen, large to accommodate the hotel and all its guests. Shaw shoved the number forward, knowing there would be a back way out. No one batted them an eyelid and Shaw glanced behind her, expecting someone to be on them at any moment. There hadn't exactly been a lot of places to go.

But there was no one and that concerned Shaw more than anything. She wondered where Daniel was, if he had made himself scarce from the balcony or if someone had discovered him, realising where the flash grenades had come from and went to investigate. She knew Daniel was armed, that he could take care of himself (she had given him enough firing practice herself, after all) but she still felt uneasy as she glanced behind her only to find no sign of him.

She couldn’t stop herself from remembering her previous partner and how willing Cole had followed her into danger and how that had ended.

It wasn't a thought she allowed herself to consider for long and she forced herself to concentrate on getting the number out of the building alive.

She saw a fire exit up ahead and pushed the number through it. He winced and Shaw frowned. She didn’t think she had pushed him _that_ hard. Then she noticed the hand holding onto his side and grabbed his wrist, pulling it away slightly. Blood immediately poured from a gunshot wound at his side. It looked like just a flesh wound, but she would need to get them somewhere safe before she could fix him up properly.

There was still no sign of Daniel and Shaw knew she couldn’t risk waiting for him. He knew the protocol if they got split up in circumstances like this. He knew she couldn’t go back for him. Daniel could take care of himself.

At least Shaw hoped he could.

She didn't like Azar’s silence though. Not that it unnerved her, she just wasn't sure what to do with it. Most numbers would start screaming at this point, demanding answers to an unrelenting wave of questions that would most certainly get on Shaw's nerves. She should be grateful for his reticence, but she couldn't help but think that there was something else going on here. He was unusually calm for someone who had just been shot. Shaw didn't have time to worry about that now, however, she had to get them off the streets and figure out the details later.

The hotel Shaw and Daniel had checked into only a few hours ago wasn't far, within walking distance even, and she thought Azar would make it despite his injury. He looked about ready to protest when Shaw told him to move again and she shoved her gun into his uninjured side. That got him moving, squirming away from her in pain and scowling as he walked ahead, Shaw carefully guiding him in the right direction.

Shaw led them down side streets, heading in the direction she hoped the hotel was in. Once again she thought about how much she had come to rely on the Machine to get them out of tricky situations, that directions would be relayed to her and she would have the number home safe in a matter of minutes. In the old days, when she was still with the ISA, she would never have gone in without scoping the place first, planning at least three escape routes for any possible contingency.

But she had become lax lately, these last few missions. She should have known in Syria that it wasn’t a one off situation. She should have better prepared herself for this mission. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be so easily reassured by a Machine that could see everything.

Shaw dumped her phone, not wanting to risk whatever or whoever was interfering with their communications from tracking her. She took Azar’s too for good measure, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it with her foot before shoving him forwards once again.

Up ahead, Shaw spotted a building that she recognised and knew that the hotel was just around the corner. She was expecting someone to jump out of the shadows at any moment, point a gun at them both. But there was no one. The streets were empty and silent, no witnesses to their escape.

Inside the hotel, Shaw didn’t allow herself to sigh in relief until they were safely secure in the room, door triple locked and a chair under the handle just in case. Azar stared at her coldly and she told him to sit on the floor by the radiator, raising her gun at him when he refused, standing stone still. Eventually, and she wasn’t sure what made him do it, probably the wound at his side more than anything else, he sat down heavily. Shaw kept her eyes on him as she searched inside her luggage for the plastic zip ties and tossed one at him, telling him to tie himself to the radiator.

He ground his teeth together tightly in a sneer, but did it anyway. All trace of the rich playboy was gone and Shaw wondered if that was an act, if she was seeing the real Forood Azar tonight.

Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, Shaw placed her gun carefully on the nightstand and grabbed herself a change of clothes – something more practical for whatever events may come – and headed for the bathroom. She kept the door ajar, watching Azar’s reflection carefully in the mirror as she quickly stripped, pulling on dark jeans and a loose t-shirt. She left the dress and hijab in a heap on the floor and searched through the cupboards for a first aid kit. There was nothing and she knew she didn’t have her own kit with her. She had been meaning to restock it three missions ago but hadn’t found the time.

Instead, Shaw grabbed a towel and headed back into the bedroom. Azar was sitting still, right where she had left him, and he glared at her when she stepped back into the room. Shaw ignored him and picked up her gun, shoving it into her waistband at her back before moving closer to him.

“I’m a doctor,” she told him when he tried to flinch away from her touch as she tried to get a closer look at his wound. He looked at her like he didn’t believe her and she couldn’t really blame him for that, because she wasn’t a doctor. Not anymore. Hate filled his features and Shaw knew that even if she did have all the equipment that she needed, he wouldn’t let her near him anyway.

Shaw shoved the towel at his side anyway, pressing it harder than probably necessary. He flinched in pain but couldn’t move away from her, not with his wrists secured to the radiator. From what little she could see, Shaw didn’t think it was too bad. Definitely just a graze.

She stayed there until sure the bleeding had stopped and then moved away, dropping the bloody towel onto the bed and searching through her luggage once again. She found what she was looking for: a burner phone, untraceable, that was for emergencies only. Shaw switched it on and waited.

It didn’t take long for the Machine to start talking.

If you could call a cryptic text with a time and a flight number talking.

The flight left an hour from now. Shaw frowned down at the phone and knew what the Machine wanted. To get both Shaw and the number out of the country as soon as possible.

“What about Daniel?” Shaw said aloud, ignoring the confused look Azar sent her way. The phone in her hand vibrated again. The same time and flight number and _there is a taxi waiting outside._

“No,” said Shaw. She wasn’t leaving without him and she would be damned if she let the Machine tell her what to do. Not this time.

_No time. Go now._

Shaw shut off the phone, deciding to wait. There would be other flights.

She could see the Machine’s point though, even if it irked her. The Machine was right. The earliest flight out would be the safest. The longer they waited, the harder it would be to leave. Once the other operatives, once _Control_ , had dealt with the confusion and chaos in the ballroom, it wouldn’t take long to work out that Azar was no longer there. And if they had captured Daniel…

But the Machine would have told her if they had. Wouldn’t She?

Shaw wasn’t so sure and she felt that uneasiness again, tightening in her stomach. She would give Daniel until daylight. If there was no sign of him, then she would take the number and leave. That gave him about five hours. No more.

*

Sleep called out to her, but Shaw stubbornly kept her eyes open, denying her tired and confused body the rest it needed. She had been switching time zones so frequently lately that her internal body clock was a mess. Catching a few hours of sleep here and there was starting to take its toll and Shaw lasted about half an hour, sitting on the bed, back against the headrest, before her eyes slipped closed and she fell into a light sleep.

A knock at the door awoke her and she straightened, hand gripped tightly on the gun in her hand. She glanced at Azar, but his eyes were closed, head against the radiator. She doubted he was asleep though, could tell by his breathing. Shaw cursed herself for falling asleep and hopped off the bed, glancing at her watch. She’d been out for about four hours, but it was four hours too long, even if she did feel slightly more rested, more alert.

She stepped cautiously towards the door. It was probably just a maid or something, experience telling her that any trained operatives would have already kicked the door down and shot her by now. A knock sounded again and Shaw frowned. It was half four in the morning, way too early for a maid. The door didn’t have a peep hole, so Shaw kept her gun levelled as she moved the chair from underneath the handle and unlocked the door.

“Shaw,” said a familiar voice, whispering through the wood. “It’s me.”

 _Daniel_.

Shaw shook her head, opening the door wide and pulling him inside. She glanced up and down the hallway before closing the door and locking it again.

“Don’t worry,” Daniel said. “I wasn’t followed.”

Shaw grunted, masking her relief at the sight of him and shoved her gun back into her waistband.

“Where have you been?” she asked, a reprimand in her voice that she knew Daniel could see right through. She had been worried and he knew it. He also looked at her briefly, a flash of annoyance at her stupidity at waiting for him.

“Making sure Control wasn’t on to me,” said Daniel, moving over to their luggage and rummaging inside. Shaw held the burner phone under his nose and he stilled.

“She wanted me on the first flight,” Shaw muttered, frustration etched in her voice.

“Maybe you should have gone,” Daniel said, taking the phone from her and looking uneasy as he switched it on.

“No way,” said Shaw. “We’re a team.”

Daniel glanced at her sharply and she looked away, trying not to think about how many times she had banged on about how the mission came first. Nothing should ever compromise the mission. And here she was, compromising the mission. But she knew there was no way in hell Daniel would make it out of the country without her help.

She’d already lost one partner working relevant numbers. She wasn’t about to lose another.

The phone vibrated in Daniel’s hand. Another message from the Machine.

“There’s a flight in forty minutes,” Daniel said.

Shaw nodded and gathered up what she needed, abandoning most of their stuff. A few spare clothes wouldn’t be missed, but her spare weapons she had to leave behind. That was disappointing, but they were in a rush. There was to time to sneak them aboard a plane.

Lastly, Shaw headed towards the number. She didn’t know how well he understood English, but she knew he had been listening to their conversation. Shaw cut him loose, grabbing him by the elbow and ordering him to his feet.

“Don’t try anything,” she warned in Farsi, her gun digging into his side once again. He continued to say nothing as they headed outside, not bothering to check out. Daniel followed closely behind, looking nervous as he glanced up and down the street. Understandable considering how odd a trio they made.

A taxi pulled up at the side of the road and Shaw forced Azar into the backseat, getting in beside him. Daniel looked worried for a moment before she gestured for him to get in the front seat. Shaw told the driver where to take them, keeping her eyes on Azar, boring into him. Almost like she was daring him to open his mouth and give the game away. But he kept it shut and silence filled the cab as they were driven to the airport.

 

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Location…Tehran Imam Khomeini International Airport, Tehran, Iran…_

_//Local time… 05:13…_

At this hour, the airport wasn’t too busy. Shaw would have preferred a crowd to hide in. To hide _Daniel_ and his pale skin. The Machine had gotten them tickets and she only had to collect them from the desk. Three coach seats to New York City.

Shaw checked the phone in her hand when it vibrated with another message from the Machine.

_Lose the weapons._

Shaw frowned, not liking that idea at all. But then she glanced towards the security checkpoint, the guards and their guns and knew she wasn’t about to get her own through without getting caught.

“I can kill you with my bare hands,” Shaw muttered to Azar in Farsi before stepping away from him and towards the nearest trash can. No one was watching her as she took out her gun and placed it carefully inside, followed by her back-up piece. She felt on edge as soon as they were gone and tightened her grip on the phone in her hand when it went off once more.

_300 yards to the left._

Shaw glanced to where the Machine indicated and saw a couple sitting on the benches waiting for their check-in desk to open. The guy kind of looked like Azar and Shaw could see the passport held tightly in the man’s hand and guessed what the Machine wanted her to do. She and Daniel had their own spare passports, untraceable aliases that would get them safely out of the country. But if Azar had as powerful a father as the woman at the party last night had implied, then the authorities, along with Control and the other operatives, were most certainly looking for him.

“Stay here,” Shaw said to Daniel. “Watch him.”

Daniel looked a little nervous as she stepped away and she wondered if he would be able to hold it together. No sleep, no weapons and an army of government operatives out to get them was a bad combination. Shaw half expected the airport to be crawling with them by now, but she couldn’t spot any. It made her think the Machine had run some interference in that respect and although she was increasingly becoming more concerned with her own dependency on the AI, she was glad of it for now.

The man with the passport muttered something to his wife and climbed to his feet. Shaw watched as he handed the passports to his wife and headed to the bathroom. Grabbing their only bag of luggage (which was mostly for show at this point) Shaw headed towards the woman. She didn’t see Shaw approach, too engrossed by the magazine in her hands. The passport sat lightly on her lap and as Shaw walked past, she made a show of tripping over the other woman’s bag, dropping her own and jostling the woman.

The passport and the magazine went flying. Shaw picked them up and her own bag hurriedly, apologising profusely in Farsi as the woman rushed to help. She didn’t notice Shaw slip the passport away into her pocket, just took her magazine back and accepted Shaw’s apology graciously as she sat back in her seat.

Smirking to herself as she walked casually back to the others, the phone once again vibrated in her hands. Shaw glanced at it.

_20 minutes._

Shaw scowled. She didn’t need the reminder but hurried over to the others all the same.

Daniel looked relieved to see her, quickly standing up. Getting through security should be simple if Azar behaved himself, but it would be easier if they went through separately.

Shaw handed Daniel the bag. “You’re on a business trip, remember?”

He nodded and took the bag, holding his passport tightly in his other hand as he headed towards the security checkpoint. Although he had looked nervous when he had left, by the time he reached the queue and placed the bag on the belt he was standing a little straighter, looking a little more relaxed and Shaw knew he would be fine.

“Get up,” she muttered, taking Azar by the elbow and pulling him to his feet. “Don’t say anything or try anything or this will end badly for you.”

Azar said nothing, staring blankly ahead. It was disconcerting and she wondered if the wound at his side was worse than she had initially thought. She was unarmed and in a country where woman didn’t have much authority. If he wanted to escape then now was his chance to try something.

But he behaved himself as Shaw led him over to security, her own passport and the stolen one held tightly in her hand. She made Azar go through first, watching with bated breath as he stepped through the metal detector without any incident. Daniel was waiting on the other side, rummaging through his bag for show as he stepped closer to Azar. Shaw went through next, placing the burner phone on the belt and stepping through the detector and she too passed through with no problems. There was a flash of bitterness in her gut that she’d had to abandon her USP Compact. She would have felt a lot more at ease if she were still armed.

As if sensing her mood, the burner phone went off again as soon as Shaw picked it up.

_Security guard._

Shaw glanced around. The guards were armed, but they walked around in pairs. She would have to find one on his own if she was going to disarm him and take his gun.

Daniel moved up ahead as if he didn’t know them and she took Azar by the elbow once again. There wasn’t much time before their flight boarded and Shaw led them to the gate, depositing Azar in a seat in the waiting area and motioning for Daniel to sit next to him.

“I’ll be right back,” Shaw muttered. Once again, Daniel looked concerned, but he managed to keep his cool, glancing at Azar sideways as if anticipating something from him. But Azar was pale and sweating and Shaw knew she would have to get a proper look at that gunshot wound sooner rather than later.

Security was everywhere and Shaw couldn’t help but think that it would be so easy for someone to blend in and disguise themselves. Shaw decided to trust the Machine; She was watching everything after all and would alert Shaw to anyone who wasn’t as they appeared to be. But she couldn’t help but think of their communication problems recently, getting cut off from the Machine and even if She could see, there would be no way of informing Shaw until it was too late.

Shaw pushed the thought away. Now wasn’t the time for worrying about worse case scenarios. Right now, she had to concentrate on getting them on that flight and out of the country alive.

She spotted a guard up ahead and followed him as he went through a door at the side. It had an official looking sign on it that Shaw couldn’t read. Learning to read Farsi had never been one of her top priorities when she was growing up and her mother had been pleased enough that Sameen had bothered to learn to speak it. She could guess what it said though and doubted that wherever that door led that it was open for the general public. Shaw ignored the warning sign and stepped through. The guard had several hundred yards on her and she moved quickly.

“Excuse me,” she called out to him softly in Farsi and he stopped, turning around to frown at her. “I appear to be lost.”

Before he could do or say anything, Shaw’s fist made contact with his jaw. She grabbed him loosely around the neck, bringing him downwards and brought her knee up forcefully to meet his stomach. He grunted through the pain and Shaw got him into a choke hold, pushing him ahead of her and into an unlocked closet full of cleaning supplies. After about thirty seconds, he lost consciousness and Shaw let him drop to the ground, taking his gun and some spare ammo and hiding it away amongst her clothes. By the time he woke up, Shaw had every intention of being half way to New York.

She found Daniel and Azar where she had left them. The rest of their flight had started to board and Daniel didn’t need any prompting to take his ticket and move to the end of the queue of people waiting to board. Azar stared at her when Shaw told him to get up, his eyes dull and fading. The bleeding in his wound had stopped but Shaw was starting to wonder if it was infected. If there was more damage than she had anticipated. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. He would just have to hold on until they made it to New York.

Tension filled Shaw’s shoulders as they waited to board. She was expecting something to happen, expecting Control to appear behind her with a self-satisfied smirk. She expected bullets to whizz by her head. But when there was nothing, when they got onto the plane without anyone batting them an eyelid and made it to their seats (Daniel at the window, Azar in the middle and Shaw in the aisle where she didn’t feel nearly as trapped) Shaw still didn’t allow the tension to leave her. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not even when the plane had taken off for the thirteen hour flight back to New York.

The airhostess came down the aisle with her trolley and Shaw ordered two miniature bottles of scotch, no ice. She poured it into the plastic cup and handed it to Azar.

“Drink,” she said, watching him until every last drop was gone and then poured him the second one, forcing him to drink that one too. When he was done, Shaw noted the way his eyes became heavy lidded, the way his head lolled back in his seat as he struggled to fight the exhaustion she knew he must be feeling. Eventually, he could fight it no longer and slipped into slumber, snoring softly.

Shaw told Daniel to get some sleep too. He looked like he could use it and wasted no time making himself comfortable and closing his eyes.

Shaw kept her eyes open, despite the exhaustion. Confined to an airplane for thirteen hours, flying coach, did not make her feel any more relaxed about the situation. Azar had nowhere to go even if he did try to escape from her, but Shaw wasn't about to take any chances.


	5. Part 1: Chapter 5

_//Searching Archive..._

_//Data found..._

_//System date unknown... rough estimate... 9 months, 4 days ago…_

_//Data retrieved..._

The blizzard outside was blowing at full pelt; wind whipping at the city, sending a bombardment of snow against Shaw’s apartment windows. The power had been out for about two hours now and Shaw sat on the couch in the dark, sipping at a glass of scotch and staring through the window, trying to find a glimpse of a city lost under a blanket of white. She shivered inside her hoodie and knew the sensible thing to do would be to go to bed and try and sleep and stay warm. But she didn’t feel like sleeping, her brain too wired despite the aches in her muscles and the waver to her gait that was her body screaming out for sleep.

She should have been working a number right now, but Finch had told her to stay put, safe inside out of the cold. She had been annoyed by that, only staying where she was because she knew attempting to get across to the other side of the city would only have taken twice as long, if not been near impossible, in this weather.

That itch to get up and do something was festering within her though. She didn’t like remaining idle for long. Working relevant numbers kept her busy and when she was back in the city, she tagged along with Finch and Reese working the irrelevant side. She knew neither of them approved, could feel it in the long stares they both sent her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. They thought she should be spending her down time relaxing or whatever it was they thought that she did in her spare time.

But Shaw couldn’t. She had to stay busy. She had to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to _feel._ But tonight she couldn’t stop herself from doing both and she drained her glass, swiftly pouring herself another, hoping to numb her brain as she took another long drink.

Outside, the storm got worse, snow lashing against the window like it would never stop and Shaw wondered if it ever would. She thought it might go on and on as the days turned into weeks and months, burying the world. It seemed like it would last for eternity, already felt like it had been here forever and she couldn’t stop the next thought that flashed across her mind like an explosion of stars, unable to stop it.

With the temperature far below zero, the snow knee high, Shaw couldn’t help but think about _her_ and where she was and what she was doing. If she was hiding from the cold or somewhere warm, by a beach sipping cocktails under the burning sun.

She remembered the phone call in the middle of the night a few weeks ago now. Shaw had been sure, despite the silence, that it had been Root. Stilted, heavy breathing had been the only indication that there had been anyone there at all and Shaw had listened, halting her own breathing, a fire burning deep in her chest that she couldn’t ignore and she _knew_. She knew it was Root, more sure of that than she was sure of the heavy weight of a gun her hand. And even as the line had gone dead and Shaw’s pleas had gone unanswered, she was still sure.

She could have traced the call, gotten Finch or Daniel to help her, but she hadn’t. Root would be long gone anyway. But that wasn’t the only reason she had hesitated. She hadn’t wanted anyone else to know. She had wanted to keep it all to herself. A phone call in the middle of the night, the last real thing of Root that she had. Sharing that knowledge with anyone else seemed like a betrayal, like she would be lessening the importance of it somehow and she couldn’t bring herself to mention it. Not even to Daniel, who was, unlike Finch and Reese, more like her. More understanding. He had lived through what had happened just as she had. And he had been burned by it too.

Now that her brain had latched onto the thought of _her_ , Shaw couldn’t stop the memories from pouring out and she swallowed down another mouthful of alcohol. Not even the burn down her throat could make it stop and she closed her eyes, remembering that last night, how she had been slow and gentle, going against her very nature, like she was trying to prove something not only to Root, but to herself. She remembered the feel of the taser at her side, remembered how she wanted to be angry but couldn’t seem to find it within her.

It had been the end of summer then and, despite everything, despite their losses, Shaw had thought everything was going to be okay. She thought she could fix things.

But she had been wrong.

She had been stupid and she couldn’t fathom why she had ever thought that was the kind of life for her; a constant by her side, one person who would always be _there._

But Root wasn’t here.

Not anymore.

Shaw should have known when it first started, all those months ago, that it wouldn’t work. That it wasn’t _them_. She shouldn’t have let things get to where they did, that cautious ease with which they had somehow ended up spending more and more time together until it became undeniable that they were living together. It wasn’t something that was ever discussed, Root staying with Shaw in those long stretches in between relevant numbers and whatever other work the Machine had her and her trio of nerds doing. It had happened organically, like it was always meant to, until it was just an everyday, common thing.

Shaw could remember how it happened. The exact night they had crossed the line and Root had stayed over. The weather had been just as bad as it was now, snow falling from the sky so hard the ground had been covered in a matter of minutes. It had only gotten worse as the night went on.

Shaw remembered lying on the bed, sheet hanging loosely over her as the sweat dried on her skin. She had wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep, like she did so many times after an evening with Root. Their encounters were exhausting but always satisfying. Next to her, the bed shifted and Shaw peeked an eye open to find Root slowly pulling her clothes back on. Shaw frowned and shivered as the weather outside penetrated her apartment, leaving the air around them cold. She pulled the sheet tightly around herself and watched as Root slipped her shoes back on and Shaw frowned. They were hardly practical for walking in the snow.

Something bothered her about the thought of Root venturing outside. It wasn't the first time Shaw had questioned where Root went on those days when she wasn't with Shaw, or even the late nights when Shaw fell asleep and woke up to find Root gone. That had been their routine for so long and Shaw was content with it. It wasn't messy, it worked and Root was surprisingly less annoying than Shaw thought she would be.

But tonight, with a storm brewing outside, Shaw felt something pulling within her and she had the sudden realisation that Root didn't actually have somewhere to go. That she went from safe house to safe house. There was no constant, no fixed place in her life.

Root said nothing as she left the bedroom, probably thinking Shaw had already fallen asleep. Something had compelled Shaw out of bed, that pull again that got her tugging on clothes quickly as she dashed after Root. The wooden floors of her apartment were freezing beneath her feet, but Shaw ignored it as she stepped close to Root, wrapping a hand around the wrist that was reaching for the door handle and pressing her body up against Root's back. Root was warm, warmer than outside and Shaw didn't want her to go.

She told herself it made sense to share body heat, that sending Root out in the cold with nowhere to go was stupid and cruel (not that she cared, she repeated in her head like a mantra) and the nearest safe house wasn't within walking distance, a cab unlikely to be able to take her there.

Shaw tugged on Root's arm, whipping her around and pressing her lips roughly against Root's as she shoved her up against the door.

"Thought you were asleep," Root smirked into her mouth. Shaw ignored her. There was hesitancy in Root's eyes and Shaw pulled away, heading back to her bedroom and the bed still warm from their previous activities. She didn't say anything, but Root followed anyway and when Root stripped back down to her panties, keeping just those and her t-shirt on as she slipped beneath the sheets beside Shaw, the silence followed them.

It was better that way. Both of them could pretend, in the quiet darkness of the bedroom, that this wasn't different, that it wasn't something more than their usual routine.

Shaw fell asleep easier than she had been expecting with Root beside her, warm and solid and a tangle of limbs that found their way to Shaw. Shaw tolerated it through her exhaustion and only woke up from her light sleep when she felt movement beside her, a quiet thrashing and mumbling next to her. Root's Texas accent was pronounced when she was tired and even more so when she talked in her sleep. Shaw sat up on her elbows, glaring in annoyance that she had been woken up in the middle of the night. But it quickly turned into a frown when she realised that the mumbling was in distress, coupled with the flailing of arms and she figured Root was having some sort of nightmare.

Shaw thought about waking her up, unsure, exactly, of what to do. Shaw didn't spend the night with people. She avoided that morning after bullshit, so having Root by her side like this wasn't something she was used to or knew how to deal with.

In the end, Shaw decided to wait her out and eventually, Root stilled, the mumbling stopped, replaced with a small gasp. Tears rolled down her cheeks and Shaw looked away.

That was something else she didn't know how to deal with.

The room was silent bar Root's heavy breathing. Shaw could tell by the sharp intakes of air that she was still crying and when she dared to glance over once again, Root's hand was covering her face, masking her eyes like she was trying to shut the world out.

Shaw watched her for a moment, unsure what to do. Leaving her to it seemed like the best option, but now that she was awake, Shaw didn't think she would go back to sleep so easily. She could feel the bed shake slightly as Root continued to cry softly to herself, haunted by whatever nightmares her subconscious had conjured up for her.

Before realising what she was doing, Shaw shifted until she was straddling Root's waist. Root froze, but the tears still streamed from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. Shaw pulled her hand away gently, frowning at Root's tightly shut eyes.

"Look at me," Shaw said, her low voice sounding loud and harsh in the still and quiet room. It was still snowing outside and Shaw suppressed a shiver as she watched Root peer up at her with bloodshot eyes.

"Don't-" Root began, Shaw cutting off the rest of her sentence with the press of her lips against Root's. Her breath hitched for another reason, surprised at the contact and the way Shaw's teeth nipped at her skin. Shaw pulled away, annoyed to find the tears still flowing freely like a river after a bad storm.

Whatever Root's dream, Shaw supposed it must have been bad. Nightmares weren't something Shaw herself experienced often. Whenever she dreamt it was old memories, fading and dull, harsh reminders of her past that Shaw found easy to forget in her waking hours. But Root didn't look like she could forget so easily. It seemed etched in her skin, part of her blood, pumping through her in an endless cycle.

Shaw kissed her again, harder until Root was kissing her back, feeling Root's tears covering her own cheeks and when she pulled away again, she brought her fingers to her skin, surprised by that wetness there. Shaw had never cried in her life and she wondered, briefly, what it was like, to have that flood of emotions exploding uncontrollably out of you.

It wasn't an experience she ever wanted to endure.

"Focus on me," Shaw said when Root continued to cry, continued to _think_ , avoiding Shaw's eyes as if that would somehow make it worse. Shaw caught the sceptical look on her face though and she brought her lips to Root's neck, biting down harshly before bringing her lips to Root's good ear. "Focus on what I'm doing."

Shaw trailed light kisses down her neck again, teeth scraping along her skin. "Focus on my lips." Her hands tugged at the hem of Root's t-shirt and she pulled upwards, urging Root to lift her arms up so Shaw could take it off and toss it aside. "My hands."

"Shaw-" Root choked and Shaw knew then that this wasn't the first time. That these dreams, these _nightmares_ , whatever they were, were a regular occurrence. It explained Root's hesitancy at the door, why she was so quick to risk catching hypothermia in one of the worst storms Shaw had ever seen.

"Don't think," Shaw mumbled, watching as the cold air sparked goose bumps across Root's pale skin. She brought her lips down against Root's skin, biting and nipping up her stomach has her hands found Root's breast, felt her nipples hardening underneath her fingertips. Root gasped beneath her touch and when Shaw glanced up, the crying had stopped. But it was the look on Root's face, filled with anguish and loss that Shaw hated and wanted to make go away. She clamped her mouth around one of Root's nipples, sucking and biting until Root squirmed beneath her, almost whimpering.

Shaw knew it wasn't enough and she moved downwards, hands and mouth still touching every inch of Root's skin that she could reach. She could feel the remains of her marks from earlier, the shape of her teeth on Root's skin, the bruises underneath her fingertips that made Root wince and hiss when Shaw pressed down on them. No time to heal and here Shaw was, causing more. She liked those marks, a reminder of what they had done, that Root was here and nowhere else. No one marked Root like Shaw did and she felt a little proud of that.

Root moaned as Shaw slipped the underwear from her hips and she stilled, hands resting on Root's thighs as she looked up at her. Their eyes locked, Root's watering again and her lip trembling slightly in a way that Shaw hated and never wanted to see again. This wasn't Root, this broken thing before her, and she didn't like it.

"Please," Root breathed, “I –”

“ _Stop_ thinking,” Shaw ordered and Root stilled her protests, a hand fisting in Shaw's hair, letting her know that it was okay to continue. Shaw moved then, ducking her head, feeling and tasting how warm and ready Root was. Root gasped beneath her, hips bucking as she urged Shaw on and Shaw knew that she had stopped thinking about her dream. That for Root, right here and now was all that she was aware of. The feel of Shaw inside of her, sucking and biting, sending waves of pain and pleasure that halted the breath in Root's throat. Shaw smirked at that, always fascinated by the way she could so easily shut Root up.

Root liked to act aloof and confident but Shaw had watched her come undone more than enough to know that wasn't true.

Shaw dug the fingernails of her free hand into Root's thigh, knowing the pain would ground her, remind Root that this was the real world, that whatever horrors were filling her head as she slept weren't real. _This_ was real and the little high pitched gasp, Shaw's name escaping her lips in a breathless whisper as she came, told Shaw that Root had remembered.

Watching as Root breathed heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, Shaw moved back up the bed, lying on her side next to Root. Her eyes were glazed over in that familiar way, that post-sex high that she always seemed to get and Shaw loved to mock her for, the way she so easily forgot herself. Shaw was grateful for it now though. Grateful to see no trace of her tears.

Tiredness overwhelmed her then and she glanced at the clock on the side of the bed, realised it was four in the morning. She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but Root had other ideas, turning her head slightly and kissing Shaw hungrily. She gave into the kiss; let Root's tongue explore her mouth violently as if it was in a fight, desperate to win.

She only pushed Root away when she felt hands on her waist band, heated fingers edging underneath.

"Sleep," Shaw muttered, suppressing the frown that wanted to make itself known at the sight of fear edging at Root's eyes.

Root opened her mouth to say something and Shaw hardened her look. It was late, they were both tired and she didn't want things being said that they would both regret in the morning. Her mouth clamped shut and Root nodded, settling down onto the bed once again. She snuggled up against Shaw's side, arm snaking its way around Shaw's waist. Shaw stiffened slightly, unused to the contact but not finding it totally unpleasant in the cold winter air. She let Root stay where she was and, in the morning, several hours later when she woke up, Shaw ignored the coldness that she felt when she found Root absent from her side.

*

That same coldness filled Shaw now, alone on her couch, more than a year later. The memory felt fresh though, as if it had happened yesterday. And she wondered if things would be different if she had just let Root leave that night. If she hadn’t changed the thing between them, so casual and easy into something complicated and consuming.

She could remember the feel of Root beneath her that night, warm and soft. The sounds that she had made; small little gasps and moans, filling her head and leaving her ears ringing.

The memory burned within her, hot and fast, pooling between her thighs. Shaw closed her eyes, remembering the feel of Root's skin beneath her fingertips, the taste of Root's tongue in her mouth and felt need burning deep within her. She swallowed down the rest of her drink and placed the empty glass on the coffee table.

The alcohol wasn't working. If anything it was only making it more vivid and she hated that she couldn't get Root out of her head. After weeks of searching and never finding her, Shaw had tried to let it go, to focus on her work with Daniel, training him to have her back so she could go into situations without having to worry about him shooting her by accident.

It would have worked too, she was sure of it, if it hadn't been for that stupid phone call. Root hadn't even said a word and yet Shaw had been unable to go back to sleep, had been unable to _forget._

She hated it. All of it and wanted it to stop.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she pictured Root, squirming beneath her, remembered how good that felt and the throbbing between her legs intensified until she couldn't take it anymore.

Her hand took on a mind of its own, slipping beneath her waistband, fingers finding herself hot and ready. A groan rumbled in her throat and she thought about the way Root would moan in response to her touch, the way her body would arch beneath her, eager for more. Shaw had catalogued every individual noise, learned which whimper was associated with which way Shaw moved her tongue or her fingers inside of her. But every time there was something new, something Shaw hadn't been expecting. Root had been good at that, surprising her at every turn. But Shaw would just file away the information and use it against her later.

Biting her lip as she put pressure on her clit, Shaw imagined Root's tongue on her skin, trailing down from her neck and towards her breasts, mouth sucking and biting. She remembered the way Root would tease her to the point of frustration before _finally_ giving Shaw what she needed. Shaw pressed her fingers in deeper  and imagined they were Root's, curling inside of her, black painted nails, sharp and teasing as she brought Shaw to the edge of destruction.

Shaw had been good at that too, at making Root fall apart. It was the best thing about making her come, that afterglow she seemed to have which had a sense of frustration to it that only made Shaw all the more smug.

But it was the sound of her name, so desperate and wanting as it fled from Root's lips, that Shaw savoured the most. Nothing more than a hitched breath, sounding more like a moan than anything else, low and guttural as if Root hadn't meant to say anything all.

Thinking about it now, the movement of Root's lips as she said it, was enough to send Shaw over the edge and her orgasm burned through her like fire, leaving her shaking. She had to bite her lip to stop from crying out, so hard that she could taste blood in her mouth. She savoured the metallic taste and wondered what she must look like, sweat covering her skin, blood on her mouth.

Her breathing slowed and Shaw pulled her hand out, wiping her fingers clean on her pants and hating herself for giving in like this, for thinking about Root when she should be putting all her energy it to forgetting all about her.

It was still snowing outside, the cold seeming to seep deep into her bones and she shivered, snatching the bottle of scotch from the table and pulling the cap lose. She drank straight from the almost finished bottle and didn't stop until it was done, until the liquor made her drowsy and she fell asleep on the couch, dreaming of Root out somewhere in the snow.

 

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Location…JFK International Airport, New York…_

_//Local time… 10:13…_

Thirteen hours was a long time and Shaw had been running on just short of four hours of sleep a night for several days. The number wasn’t going anywhere, but Shaw wouldn’t allow herself to sleep despite the tiredness clawing at her eyes.

In the end, it was Daniel’s suggestion of taking turns keeping an eye on Azar that finally persuaded her to get some rest and she closed her eyes, finding sleep quickly.

Sometime later, Shaw juddered awake, sitting up straight and blinking to get her eyes focused. She could feel the gun at her back, cold and reassuring.

Movement down the aisle caught her attention: the airhostesses doing the pre-landing checks. Shaw frowned and glanced out the window, seeing land below as the plane dipped in preparation for landing. Daniel must have let her sleep for a good six hours and she scowled at him as he stared at her with bleary eyes.

Azar was awake too, staring straight ahead, stone faced. He looked a little better than he did six hours ago, just a little grey around the edges and Shaw knew she couldn’t put off looking at that wound for much longer.

“Any problems?” Shaw asked. Daniel shook his head. He looked just as unsettled by that as Shaw felt and even the thought of touching down on home soil didn’t make it go away.

Control and the other operatives had to have realised they had left Iran by now. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out where they were going.

The plane dropped lower, turbulence rumbling against the fuselage so hard it made Shaw shake in her seat. She watched as Azar gripped the armrests of his seat tightly and wondered if he was afraid of flying. Then she worried he was going to throw up and quickly shoved a sick bag under his nose before it went everywhere. Daniel groaned next to him and turned away, staring fixedly out the window like he was trying to pretend he couldn’t hear the sounds of someone vomiting beside him.

The smell hit Shaw's senses and she turned away, pulling a disgusted face and told Azar to hold the bag until they landed. He glared at her for that but it barely penetrated Shaw. She had faced harsher looks (had dealt out quite a few of her own) and it didn't concern her.

Despite the turbulence, the pilot landed them smoothly. Shaw glanced out the window, letting out a breath at the sight of the Manhattan skyline. Daniel glanced at her with relief but Shaw couldn't help but think that it had been too easy. All of it. The escape from the ballroom and reaching the hotel. Daniel reaching them hours later, with no sign of a tail. And then the airport and the passport for Azar, getting through security without him being recognised.

In all her time working for the ISA, and more recently working with Daniel directly for the Machine, she had never had quite so easy an escape. Something didn't sit right with this and she couldn't be sure what it was that unsettled her so much.

The plane made a slow trail across the runway as it steered towards the terminal, eventually coming to a stop. Shaw glanced out the window again. She couldn't see very well, but imagined that the usual airport bustle of an arriving plane was under way; stairs attached to the doors and the luggage being unloaded. Above them, the fasten seatbelt sign remained turned on and Shaw could see some of the other passengers ignoring it now that the plane had come to a complete stop.

Shaw was about to ignore it too, but then the air hostess’ voice came on over the speaker.

" _We appear to be having a few technical difficulties. Please remain in your seats until further notice_ ," she said before repeating it again in Farsi.

Shaw frowned and looked at Daniel. He appeared just as unsettled as she felt. All of Shaw's instincts were humming at her. Something was wrong.

An air hostess dressed in the airline’s maroon and white uniform walked down the aisle. Shaw grabbed her wrist to get her attention and put on a bright smile, acting all naive and innocent as she asked what was going on. The air hostess’ smile faltered slightly at Shaw's audaciousness before she politely informed Shaw that they were having problems attaching the staircase to the doors securely. It would all be sorted in a _jiffy_. Shaw cringed at the word and waited until the air hostess was half way up the aisle again before turning to Daniel.

"I'm not buying it," Shaw said. "We need to go. _Now_."

Daniel nodded and Shaw unclipped her belt, taking the burner phone out of her pocket and turning it on. Her concerns about relying on the Machine too much were still there, like an unpleasant coil in her stomach, waiting to explode. But, right now, she could do with the help.

The phone buzzed almost immediately. _Rear of the plane._

"Get up," Shaw muttered in Farsi, unclasping Azar’s belt and grabbing him by the elbow. "Just keep walking," she told Daniel as she pushed Azar ahead of her towards the back of the plane.

Shouting began behind them; the air hostess Shaw had grabbed onto earlier trying to get their attention. Shaw ignored her and the curious looks she got from the other passengers, reaching the galley. She found what the Machine must have wanted her to: the trap on the floor that led into the luggage hold. Shaw grabbed a knife from the galley and prised it open just as the air hostess reached them.

"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded. Shaw ignored her and motioned for Daniel to take Azar through first. "Stop that. You can't," the air hostess said, moving towards them. Shaw pulled the gun out from behind her back, pointing it steadily at her.

The air hostess froze, staring open mouthed and wide-eyed at Shaw.

"I suggest you head back to the front of the plane and stay there," Shaw said. The air hostess nodded, stumbling backwards.

Shaw counted to five. And there it was. Screaming. Shaw rolled her eyes, ripping the hijab from her head and tossing it aside before climbing through the hole. There was little need for the disguise now. There was nothing she could do about the attention though. Her main goal was to get them out of there.

_Head north_ , the phone in her hand informed her. Shaw shoved it back in her pocket and motioned for Daniel and Azar to follow her as she headed towards the opened door, ignoring the baggage handlers as she passed. It was quite the drop from the luggage hold to the runway below and both Daniel and Azar stared at her hesitantly when she told them to jump.

"Aim for the luggage truck," she said. It was about four feet away and she thought they could make it.

One of the baggage handlers yelled at them from behind as Daniel went first, landing in a heap amongst the suitcases. Azar was next, Shaw pushing him more than he jumped himself. His jaw hit off a suitcase and he lay there a moment, unmoving before Daniel helped him to his feet. The baggage handler started barking into a radio and Shaw jumped, telling Daniel to head north. She wasn’t sure where to. She just had to trust the Machine to get them there.

The New York air was cold and breezy, the sun low in the sky, blinding her eyes and she looked overhead at a small passenger plane coming into land. Shaw lowered her gaze and pushed on ahead.

After a few moments of heading in the direction the Machine had told them, Shaw saw something up ahead; what looked like a gate with a dark blue van behind it. As they got closer, the van's engine switched on and Shaw watched as it reversed a few hundred yards before whoever was driving slammed their foot on the accelerator and they shot forwards, crashing through the flimsy metal gate.

"Is that-" Daniel began.

"Come on," Shaw said, tightening her grip on the stolen gun. It was too heavy and not quite sitting right in her hand. She missed her USP compact and wished she had it now as she heard a commotion behind her. She turned, the small plane she had watched coming into land had stopped in the middle of the runway, the doors hanging open as several men dressed in black climbed out. Her stomach sinking, Shaw knew who they were, not surprised in the slightest.

"Hurry," Shaw muttered, watching ahead again as the van rolled to a stop. Reese hopped out of the driver's seat, rushing towards them as Daniel guided Azar to the back of the van.

"Looks like you've got company," Reese said, pulling his weapon out as he watched the group of operatives heading towards them.

Shaw grunted and headed towards the van. She was glad to see him and his gun, especially when she spotted security running towards them from the terminal.

"We should get out of here," Shaw said, although her finger was itching to pull the trigger. Reese nodded as gunfire broke out, coming from the direction of the operatives from the plane.

Shaw cursed under her breath, crouching low as she headed towards the van. Reese shot off a few rounds aimlessly, more of a warning shot and unlikely to hit anything from this distance.

Reaching the van, Shaw climbed into the back beside Daniel and Azar. She spotted Harold in the front, sliding in the driver's seat as Reese continued to fire.

"Hurry, Mr Reese," Harold called, putting the van into reverse.

The operatives were closing in, almost within firing range. Shaw shot off a couple of rounds, aiming for kneecaps and hitting one of them. He went tumbling to the ground, tripping up the agent behind him. Shaw watched briefly until Harold turned the van, with screeching tires, back towards the gate, and her view was blocked. Reese was in the passenger seat, breathing heavily, sweat beading at his forehead.

"Miss me?" Shaw asked, grinning at his discomfort. He glared at her, gripping the arm rest tightly as Harold turned a corner sharply.

"Ms. Shaw," Harold scolded, "when I said don't kill your number, I didn't mean for you to kidnap him!"

Shaw rolled her eyes. "Didn't have a lot of choice, Finch."

Despite Harold's disapproval she could hear the concern in his voice and wondered if there had been nothing but silence from the Machine's end for the last thirteen hours. Shaw didn't like that, when Finch worried. It irritated her, like he couldn't trust her to handle herself in a tricky situation.

It was more than that though. It was that he cared that bothered her. She didn't want him to care or worry. But he did it anyway, in his own subtle little ways. Scolding her for making split second choices in the field was one of them.

"Besides," Shaw continued, watching Azar as he breathed heavily, holding his side and clenching his eyes shut in pain. "He'd be dead by now if I hadn't."

"That's hardly the point," said Finch. "What, exactly, are we supposed to do with him?"

"I was thinking the cage," said Shaw, tearing her gaze away from Azar to look at him. She caught the look that flashed between Harold and Reese, so brief that it would have been easy to miss for most people. But Shaw wasn’t most people. She was a trained operative; part of her job was to watch people, pick up little tells in their body language. And, right now, both Finch and Reese were telling her that something was wrong.

"What?" Shaw asked tightly.

Another look passed between them and a slight nod from Harold, a silent assent, had Reese turning to her.

"Cage is occupied," Reese said.

Shaw glanced at Daniel. He shrugged at her, looking just as confused by this as she was.

"By who?" Shaw asked.

 

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Location…the library, New York…_

_//Local time… 11:57…_

Shaw wasn’t really dressed for the New York fall weather and she shivered as she stepped out of the car, dragging Azar along behind her. He was unsteady on his feet, unlikely to have been able to stand on his own if Shaw hadn’t been holding him up.

Just as their escape from Iran had felt too easy, so did their escape from JFK. Harold had arranged with Fusco to stash another car for them down a deserted side street with no security cameras for someone to track them. Fusco himself was dumping the van, making it untraceable. Shaw wasn’t too worried about that, but she was concerned by Control’s exact timing. It bothered her, just like all the other things that had happened on their missions lately, sitting inside of her and eating away until she couldn’t ignore it.

But there wasn’t time for that now, as she led Azar inside the library and up the stairs. For a moment, she didn’t think he would make it, but he seemed to salvage one last burst of energy from somewhere that got him up the last few sets of stairs. He was paler than ever by the end of it, sweat lining his forehead in a dense sheen, breathing heavily as he clutched at his injured side, making Shaw think that she should have insisted back in Tehran that she had a look at it. It didn’t matter now though and she focused on running through the list of supplies that she would need to fix him up so she didn’t have to think about anything else as she led Azar through the maze of bookshelves, past Finch’s computers and towards a back room she kept stocked with medical supplies.

This floor of the library wasn’t empty though. Finch’s computers were occupied even though Shaw knew he was still busy outside parking the car.

It was _her_.

Shaw tried her hardest to just walk away, push Azar into the other room and concentrate on the task at hand. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t help but look.

It hit her hard then. A flash of anger so great in consumed her chest, sucking the air out of her lungs as she watched Root sitting at Finch’s desk frowning at a computer. She hadn’t noticed Shaw yet, too engrossed by whatever she was looking at, the light from the screen dancing across her face, making her skin ghostly pale.

Shaw had spent so long, tried so hard, this last year not to feel anything, but now, with Root so close, with Shaw only having to step forward a few feet to reach out and touch her, she felt everything.

And she hated it.

She hated that she both wanted to touch Root, poke and prod and reassure herself that she was real and at the same time, punch her in the face for leaving in the first place. She didn’t know which desire was worse, how she could be feeling them both so strong when everything had been quiet for so long. Why now? Why did it have to be now? She couldn’t have just stayed away, left Shaw, left them _all_ , alone.

Root looked up then and it was like a punch to the gut. Shaw couldn’t decipher the look on her face. Nor did she want to, and she pushed Azar into the other room so she wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

Except it wasn’t that easy, ingrained in her mind like her most vivid of memories, like she was looking at a photograph. Shaw closed her eyes and willed it all away and when she opened them again, after a deep and heavy breath, she felt a little better, could breathe a little easier.

She pushed Azar down into a seat and zip tied one of his wrists to the radiator. He scowled at her, but most of the impact was lost when his gaze wavered. He didn’t look good. You didn’t need to be a doctor to realise that and Shaw forced him to take his shirt off so she could see his injury more clearly. Azar didn’t look pleased by the request, adamantly remaining frozen in place. Shaw rolled her eyes and in the end took a pair of scissors and cut the shirt away herself. Although the bleeding had stopped, the wound was infected.

Shaw gathered up everything she would need and took the stool next to him, but when she reached out to begin cleaning the wound, he flinched away from her, muttering a curse in Farsi under his breath. Shaw frowned. Her Farsi was mostly fluent, but she figured whatever expression had just been uttered wasn’t something her mother had wished Sameen to have in her vocabulary. It didn’t matter though, Shaw had gotten the gist of it.

There wasn't any place for him to go, his pathetic attempts at a retreat futile, leaving him with no choice but to allow Shaw access to his injury. The skin around the wound was red and raw and when Shaw rubbed some alcohol on it he hissed in pain. Shaw ignored him, not bothering to offer him something for it. He would probably refuse it anyway. Instead she concentrated in what she was doing, allowing old skills so ingrained into her very being take over. She always liked this part: fixing someone up. Getting rid of bullets and stitching up stab wounds.

She was good at it. Took pride in it even. Shaw knew how to fix someone up with a cold, hard efficiency. It was the _healing_ part that eluded her.

For a long time, Shaw had believed they were the same thing. It took her a while to realise that they weren't. That it didn't matter how many textbooks she read, how many bullets she removed, she never would be a healer. Would never be a _doctor_.

That part of her life was long over now and she tried not to think about it much. She would have gone on denying she had ever been to medical school, graduated top of her class, if she could get away with it. But her occupation these days required those skills more often than not and she seemed to spend most of her time either stitching up herself or those around her.

Wound cleaned, Shaw dressed the injury and went to find Azar a clean shirt. Finch always kept some spare clothes and things just in case and she found one that looked to be about Azar’s size.  She cut him loose, not surprised when she received a scathing look when she moved to help him put it on. He did it himself, clearly in pain as he lifted up his arms. Shaw didn’t move to assist him though and once again didn’t bother to offer him any pain meds, just quick shot of antibiotics into his arm that he gritted his teeth at.

It took him longer than Shaw would have liked, her impatience growing. She could hear voices through in the other room; Finch and Reese back from parking the car. Another voice joined them, louder and more angry.

_Daniel._

Shaw could guess what he was arguing about and cringed inwardly when it turned into shouting. She glanced briefly behind her, as if she could see through the wall and rows of bookshelves beyond. Daniel had been more shocked by Harold’s revelation about who was occupying the cage than Shaw had been, and although he was sitting in the backseat with her, Azar wedged between them, she noticed him stiffen, that angry hardness to his look in the way his lips thinned and his fists clenched. Shaw had never seen him so angry. It was a new side to him and one she was oddly intrigued by.

Movement caught her attention out of her peripheral vision and she immediately went for the gun at her back, pointing it at Azar, half-way to his feet.

“Sit,” she ordered, the command low and angry. Her Farsi was coming out smoother and easier now, but she had no doubt Azar would have been able to understand her even if she had spoken English. The gun kind of made the point for her.

He sat down and Shaw tossed a zip tie to him, motioning for him to secure himself to the radiator once again. Shaw kept her eyes on him as the yelling continued from the next room, getting more heated by the second. Azar’s eyes glanced behind her shoulder, but Shaw didn’t fall for it, gesturing with her gun and staring hard at him until the plastic tie was tight around his wrist.

“You don’t like women very much do you,” Shaw said in English. Azar glared up at her and she suspected his English wasn’t as bad as he had been pretending for the last day. She tried to think back on anything that was said between her and Daniel that he could have picked up on and could use for later, but her mind drew a blank. Besides, he was locked up tight (not as tight as she would have liked, Shaw thought bitterly, cursing the occupied cage) and she doubted he would be able to do very much with his injury.

She wasn’t about to take any chances though, and tested the strength of the zip tie herself to make sure he was tied up as securely as she assumed he was. The vagueness of the situation was making her wary. For all she knew, Azar could be more dangerous than he appeared. The Machine had sent them his number after all and relevant numbers was her business these days.

Expect, even _that_ they couldn’t be sure of. She remembered then, what Finch had said right before her earpiece had went dead. That the Machine rarely (only twice that Shaw actually knew of) gave them orders to kill. Not that Shaw saw the Machine as giving her orders. Guidance maybe, at a push.

But if Harold thought his creation hadn’t sent them there, then Shaw was inclined to believe him. Root and Greenfield showing up at almost the exact same time only solidified her concerns.

Shaw told Azar to stay where he was, not that he could get very far being tied up, and ventured into the other room. The shouting ceased just as she arrived, Daniel storming past her and towards the stairs. She thought, briefly, about going after him, but then she caught the scent of something, the faint flowery smell of perfume and something deep within her, some pull, compelled her to stay. Her eyes landed on Root, standing just behind Harold with her arms crossed defensively as she stared at her feet.

Shaw forced herself to look away.

“So,” Shaw began, anger edging her voice. “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Don’t look at us,” said Reese, shrugging defensively. “He’s your number.”

Shaw ground her teeth down at that, but said nothing more, realising that Reese and Finch were probably as much in the dark as she was.

“Ms. Groves?” said Finch and Shaw tried her best not to look; to stare at Finch, the dusty old hardbacks on the shelves behind him or even at Reese, at the tiredness that edged at his eyes. She wanted to look at her feet, study her hands and pick at her fingernails. Anything so she didn’t have to look at Root.

“Care to shed some light on the situation?” Finch continued and Shaw looked despite herself. _Really_ looked this time, unlike before where she had glanced at Root for the briefest of seconds, feeling her anger rage before she had forced herself to turn away.

Root’s shoulders lifted up into a shrug, her arms still held tightly around herself, giving the impression of someone smaller than she actually was. To Shaw, it was like looking at someone else entirely. She didn’t look like Root. Her Root was ruthless, had a hint of mischief to her smirk and bright sparkling eyes. This Root’s eyes were dull, no hint of a smile anywhere.

Shaw felt that pull again and immediately shut it down, locked it away somewhere deep inside of herself so she didn’t have to hear it.

“All I know,” said Root, her voice sounding small as she looked at Finch, “is that She needs Jason’s help for something. That’s why She helped me find him.”

Something snapped in Shaw at that. Her carefully compartmentalised box, bursting at the seams as anger flooded her veins. The Machine was the reason why Root was here, why she had found Jason after all this time.

“So you found him then?” Shaw asked coldly, staring hard at Root until she looked at her. But then their eyes locked and Shaw had to look away, couldn’t stand how watery and familiar they looked. “I hope it was worth it.”

“It wasn’t actually,” Root said quietly.

Shaw looked at her sharply and, for a moment, she forgot that there were others in the room, that it wasn’t just her and Root, alone after so long apart.

But then Finch said something, shattering the illusion. Whatever it was, it didn’t penetrate Shaw, caught in a bubble of her own memories, almost suffocating with it. She pushed them away again, not finding it as easy as she had before.

When she was growing up, after her father had died and later, when she was older, when her mother was gone, her career in tatters; even then Shaw had been good at letting it go as if it had never been there at all. Now it wasn’t so easy, like she was pushing against an impossible force, weighing her down more second by second until she thought she might snap from it.

It was all too much.

“I’m going to check on Daniel,” Shaw snapped, heedless of the fact that she had just cut Finch off mid-sentence. She had to get out of there before the looks Root kept shooting her consumed her whole. She stormed out, refusing to look back and not caring if her haste showed.

The stairwell was dark and empty but Shaw knew where Daniel would have gone and climbed the stairs, taking two at a time. The burn of her lungs and her old knee injuring flaring up grounded her a little. By the time she reached the roof she felt a little better, could quiet the anger until it was nothing more than a dull throb in her chest.

She found Daniel in his usual spot near the ledge, flicking dark grey stones onto the building opposite with a golf club.

“Hitting them harder might help,” Shaw advised, stopping just behind him and out of his swing space.

Daniel shrugged and flicked at another stone, barely grazing it. Shaw watched as it flew in the air for a few inches before dropping to the ground, skidding to a halt at the ledge.

“Speaking from experience?” Daniel asked.

“Usually I just shoot things,” Shaw said with a smirk, taking the club out of his hand. He looked ready to protest, but handed it over anyway in the end, taking a step back out of her way.

Shaw spread her legs a bit; positioned a particularly large looking stone in front of her with the base of the club. Swinging the club up in the air, Shaw brought it down fast on the unsuspecting rock, sending it up high in the sky. It landed on the rooftop opposite with a satisfying thud.

“But I can see why this might work too,” Shaw added, shooting Daniel a smug look when she handed him the golf club back. Scowling as he took it, Daniel positioned a rock in front of him, practising his aim obnoxiously before he finally swung and hit the thing. It didn’t go as far as Shaw’s, but it was marginally better than his first effort.

“Better?” Shaw asked, watching as Daniel’s shoulders slumped slightly.

“Not really,” Daniel sighed. There was no anger to his voice like there had been when he had been shouting earlier. Shaw was glad of that. There were far more productive ways of expressing that anger, of which she had plenty of experience.

“I can’t believe they’re so calm about this,” Daniel said eventually through a tightened jaw. “How can they just let him sit in there?”

Shaw shrugged. She didn’t have any answers for him. She didn’t like it either, but there wasn’t much they could do about it now. She was glad of the cage then, glad she had added extra precautions to it years ago when they had locked Root up in there.

The thought jabbed at her like a sharp knife to her chest before she could force the memory of it away. She could remember the satisfying crunch as her fist had met Root’s jaw down in the sewer. The sound of Root’s body landing heavily onto the floor had elicited a smirk from her that didn’t disappear even as she had dragged Root’s limp body outside.

She hadn’t thought about it back then, but they had somehow come full circle in those two days: Root incapacitating her and dragging her out to a car and then Shaw was doing the same thing. But instead of going off on some blind mission for the Machine, Shaw had unceremoniously dumped Root’s still unconscious body at Harold’s feet. Like a cat bringing a mouse home for its owner, she had stared at him proudly, undeterred by the look of mild horror on his face as he asked what in the world they were supposed to do with Root.

Shaw had several ideas and she could remember them clearly now. She didn’t think Harold would have approved of any of them, not even now.

After Shaw had made a few adjustments, they had settled on the cage on the floor below Harold’s base of operations. A thick layer of dust coated everything and Shaw was content to leave it as it was, but Harold had given the place a quick clean as Shaw rigged the cage with a sensor that would be tripped by an ankle monitor if it got too close, sending a nasty shock through whoever was wearing it.

Harold had frowned at her when she was finished, but said nothing as she clipped it tightly into place around Root’s ankle and dragged her downstairs to the cage, locking her in tight.

The only time Root had ever gotten out of the cage was because they had let her. Those twice daily bathroom breaks and then, after Carter had died, they had let her out to help find Reese, giving her access to the Machine.

But even after that, something simmered in Shaw; an unsettledness that wouldn’t go away. She had known then, that they would need Root’s help once again, and probably soon, despite Harold’s concerns. And she had been right. They did need Root again.

Unbeknownst to Harold, Shaw had unlocked Root’s cage, trusting Root as the Machine’s analogue interface to do the right thing. The act overrode every instinct Shaw had. Trust was something overrated, something that didn’t come easily to Shaw. But somehow, in the course of a few days, she had ended up putting her trust in Root.

That trust was long gone now. Shaw didn’t know if she would ever get it back. If she even wanted it back.

“I’m not doing this,” Daniel said, cutting into her thoughts. He shook his head angrily, tightening his grip on the golf club like he was ready to swing it harder than ever, heedless of the target.

Shaw got it, she really did. He had every right to be angry. Greenfield had betrayed him too, perhaps more than he had betrayed anyone else, and Daniel had never really let that go.

She saw it in him sometimes. A quiet rage he let out every now and then when he thought she wasn’t looking. But Shaw always saw it. Part of her wanted to encourage it. Until she remembered that Daniel wasn’t like her. Anger and rage and the thirst for violence that came with it didn’t suit him. And she liked that about him. That he could be mild when he wanted to be, when he _needed_ to be. Or when _she_ needed him to be. And she had needed it a lot this past year.

“So… what? That’s it?” said Shaw, letting her irritation show in her voice. “You’re just going to walk away?”

Daniel shrugged, refusing to look at her, which only seemed to make Shaw’s irritation grow into something fierce.

“Thought we were a team,” Shaw said. “Partners.”

Daniel stiffened and turned to glare at her. That was usually his line, although he hadn’t needed to deliver it for quite some time now. Back in the early days, when they were still learning to work together and Shaw’s temper was loose, running frantically like a dog let off its leash, Daniel had needed to say those words more often than not. The reminder usually hit Shaw cold and she would rein her temper in, give Daniel an apologetic look to maintain some semblance of peace between them and would then go straight back to work.

“This has nothing to do with that,” Daniel said. “You’re really willing to trust her? After everything she put you through?”

Shaw swallowed and turned away. Daniel had seen her both at her worst and her best over the past year. Part of her hated him for it. Hated the way he had never mentioned it, never directly, until now.

“No,” said Shaw, “I’m not. But you’re always telling me to trust the Machine. And the Machine brought her back here.”

She couldn’t hide the bitterness from her voice and suspected Daniel could hear it as he stared at her stonily.

Because she was right. Trust the Machine was his motto these days.

“Do you get ten points if you hit someone’s car?”

Shaw stiffened.

It was the sound of her voice, that false mixture of cheeriness and smugness that grated on her nerves. Shaw could tell by the look on Daniel’s face when he turned around that he hadn’t realised Root had been behind them either. She wondered how long she had been standing there listening, how much Root had heard, and then decided it didn’t matter. She didn’t care, she told herself.

Neither of them said anything in response, but that didn’t seem to bother Root who sauntered over to them without a care in the world. Shaw’s jaw clenched and she stared into the distance, watching a seagull as it flew through the air, wings flapping furiously as it tried to maintain its height. She could feel a breeze in the air and tried not shiver, tried not to show any sign of weakness.

“I’m going to go help Finch,” Daniel said, staring at her pointedly. Shaw hated him for that, for making her stay up here on this roof with no escape. She knew what he was doing and why, but she didn’t like it and glared at him as he moved to hand her the golf club. “Actually, maybe I should keep this,” he said, glancing warily between her and Root before heading for the stairs. He must have forgotten Shaw was carrying a gun. The squeeze of a trigger could be just as satisfying as swinging a golf club and hearing the crunch of bone as it made impact.

But she wasn’t about to do either. She had more self-control than that and she moved past Root before what little of it she had left quickly left her.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Shaw,” Root said, following closely behind her. “Not if we have to work together.”

“I can try,” Shaw ground out, doubting her words could be heard over the quickening wind.

“Will you at least let me explain?” Root said hurriedly. “About why I left?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Shaw said, speeding up her pace as she reached the stairwell.

“I had to stop him, Shaw,” Root said, and it was almost like she was pleading, that earnestness in her voice. Shaw hated it. It grated at her nerves, leaving her ears ringing. “I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else.”

“Bullshit,” Shaw finally snapped, turning on her heel and glaring hard at Root. She hadn’t realised just how closely Root had been following her and now they were only inches apart. “You left because I-”

Shaw clamped her mouth shut, feeling her heart beating wildly in her chest as she shook her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to shut it all out, quiet it down so she didn’t have to listen to the rush of it, the pull she felt every time she thought about or looked at Root. It was harder, with Root being so close. She couldn’t make it stop.

And she couldn’t figure out if she wanted to kiss her or punch her or both.

“Is that what you think?” Root asked. The quiet rumble of her voice forced Shaw’s eyes open and she couldn’t hide from what she saw there, a sadness that looked as if it would consume Root whole. “Is that what you’ve thought this whole time?”

“What was I supposed to think?” Shaw hissed. “You just left.”

Root swallowed and looked away, like she couldn’t bear the scrutiny anymore, like it burned her somehow. That just seemed to make Shaw all the more angry.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shaw said when Root opened her mouth to say something. Probably more excuses that Shaw didn’t want to hear. “I don’t care anymore.”

“Shaw-”

“Just stay out of my way,” Shaw said, turning once again. She felt better with each step downwards, a little bit of that pull loosening slightly as she quickly descended, got a little more distance between her and Root.

She just hoped it would be enough.


	6. Part 1: Chapter 6

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Local time… 12:35…_

By the time Shaw made it back down the stairs, most of her anger had left her, leaving her with nothing more than a dull ache in her chest. Exhaustion flared inside her. She would kill for a nap right now. Or at least some coffee. She would have to settle for neither though and suppressed the yawn that was trying to fight its way out of her mouth as she walked towards Harold and the others.

Daniel glanced at her, his eyebrow raised slightly in question as he hovered over Harold at the computer. Shaw ignored him and gratefully accepted the energy bar Reese thrust under her nose.

“Know how much you hate airplane food,” he muttered.

Shaw tore the wrapper open and said nothing. The throbbing in her chest eased with every bite and she felt much better, much more alert, by the time she had finished.

“You guys find anything?” she asked, shoving the empty wrapper into her pocket at Harold’s pointed look when she made to toss it onto a shelf to dispose of later.

“I dug a little deeper about our friend Mr Azar,” said Harold, shuffling towards his number board and putting up a picture of Azar. It looked old; Azar was much younger, his hair a little longer and stubble grazing his cheeks. Shaw thought it might have been taken maybe five or six years ago.

“Where did you dig that up from?” Shaw asked. “We couldn’t find anything.”

“NSA archive files,” Harold said sheepishly, turning to face her.

Shaw raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You hacked into the NSA?”

“Not the first time,” said Harold, raising his eyebrows and smirking slightly, proud of himself. This was the side of Harold that Shaw liked the most. He could be a dangerous man if he chose to be. Except he wasn’t. He cared and held himself back from that teetering edge.

The same couldn’t be said for the rest of them.

“Why’d they have a file on him?” Shaw asked.

“It seems Mr Azar is known to them,” Harold said, moving back towards his computers.

“Yeah,” Daniel agreed. “It looks like they’ve been keeping tabs on him for years.”

“So he _is_ part of that extremist group then?” Shaw said, not at all surprised by that.

“Looks like it,” said Daniel.

Some of the tension left Shaw’s shoulders. At least the Machine had been on point with that when She had spat out Azar’s number.

“But that’s the least of our problems,” said Harold, sounding so grave that Shaw’s eyes immediately went to him. “It appears Mr Azar is not only on the NSA’s watch list, but the FBI’s as well.”

“Meaning…?” Shaw said, wishing Harold would hurry up and get to the point.

“Meaning,” said Root from behind her and Shaw stiffened, not liking that Root had managed to sneak up on her twice already today, “that Azar would be picked up as soon as he stepped foot on American soil.”

“We think,” Harold continued as if Root’s little interjection had been intentional, “that whoever orchestrated to have you and the Machine’s other operatives at that party, they wanted you to bring Azar here.”

Well that explained why he had been so remarkably calm during their escape from Iran. It had been his plan all along.

“So we played right into their hands?” Shaw asked bitterly. The urge to go shoot Azar now was strong. She thought it would solve a lot of their problems. “So the Machine didn’t give us Azar’s number?”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know. We can’t know for sure.” His eyes danced behind her, glancing at Root briefly before looking away.

If one person knew what the hell was going on with the Machine, then that person was Root.

“Well,” said Shaw tightly through gritted teeth. “Care to shed some light on the situation?”

She could feel more than see Root flinch behind her and that alone caused Shaw to turn her head and look.

“The Machine and I…” Root began, eyes downcast at her feet. The arrogant swagger she had displayed on the rooftop was nowhere to be seen and Shaw wondered which one was the act; that put on confidence or this, the helpless, broken thing, so far from what Shaw was used to. “We haven’t talked properly since…”

“Since you left?” Shaw snapped, the anger quickly rising in her throat again. She swallowed it back down, watching as Root nodded slightly before looking away and directing her attention towards Finch again.

"We have to face the possibility that we've just given Azar exactly what he wants," said Harold.

"Well, he's not going anywhere," said Reese, moving to the cabinet where he kept his spare weapons and took out an extra pistol. "I'll make sure of that."

Harold frowned but said nothing.

"There's one way to find out for sure if it was the Machine or not," Shaw offered and felt a flash of irritation at the surprised looks she received from the others. She looked at Daniel, still hovering near the computers.

"What?" he said, when he noticed she was staring at him.

"We ask one of the Machine's other operatives," Shaw said and Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Your boyfriend was there," Shaw said, smirking slightly at the affronted look that immediately appeared on Daniel's face.

"He's not my boyfriend," Daniel said.

"Whatever," Shaw muttered, tossing Daniel her burner cell. "Call him."

"But-"

"We need information on what's going on with the Machine," Shaw said. "Which means pooling our resources."

Daniel sighed but took the phone anyway, reluctantly dialling a number. Shaw smirked that he had memorised it and he rolled his eyes at her. She could see Reese and Finch shooting them both curious looks out of the corner of her eye and she quickly explained how a few months ago, she and Daniel had been working a number that required more than two sets of hands. The Machine had given another team the same number as well, and unbeknownst to the others just who exactly they were working for, they had completed the mission. Daniel had gotten more than a little friendly with the other team's analyst. Not that Shaw had wanted or asked for any details; but the smug smile that didn't leave Daniel's face the next morning kind of told her more than she wanted to know anyway.

Ever since then, every few days at first, but dwindling down to about every week since their encounter, Daniel had been rebuffing phone calls and texts, coming up with more ludicrous excuses as to why he was unavailable. Shaw had found it amusing at first, then it just became annoying to the point where she was almost tempted to call him up herself and tell him Daniel wasn't interested.

Daniel would probably kill her if she dared. Or at least attempt to. Shaw knew he wouldn't succeed even if he did have the guts to try.

Daniel clenched his jaw with the phone at his ear as he listened to it ring and Shaw wondered if part of her was getting some form of payback for what had happened up on the roof. Watching him squirm was amusing, but she was still annoyed that he had, in a way, left her up there to face Root by herself. So much for partners having your back.

The line must have picked up because Daniel started stuttering into the phone. He stopped, listening to the voice on the other end. "You're in New York?" he said, like it was the worst news he had ever heard.

"Ask him out," Shaw mouthed and Daniel glared.

"Dinner?" said Daniel, looking horrified, as he tried to turn away from them all. Shaw wondered if it was his way of pretending this wasn't happening. "Um... sure," he said, cringing as the words came out of his mouth. "Tonight's fine."

Shaw kept the smirk on her face as Daniel hung up the phone and turned around.

"I'll kill you for this."

 

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Local time… 19:40…_

After going back to her own place and having a well-earned shower and nap, Shaw felt much better, much more like herself. She left Azar in Reese’s capable hands and allowed herself to forget about all of their problems for a few hours.

It worked too, until she woke up, fifteen minutes before she had set her alarm. It took Shaw a few moments to work out what had woken her, until she remembered the faint threads of a lingering dream. The same one as always. Except _this_ time, it wasn’t an old memory resurfacing. This time, it was more vivid. This time it was like she could actually feel Root, could actually taste her and smell her scent.

That same pull tugged at her until Shaw got out of bed and stretched the stiffness out of her muscles before heading to the kitchen and grabbing the sandwich she had picked up on her way home. Taking a large bite and savouring the taste, Shaw finally felt at ease and she quickly finished it, grabbing her guns and heading out to meet Daniel before his date.

He didn’t look pleased when she slipped into the passenger seat of his car outside the restaurant. In fact, he looked pissed.

“Psyching yourself up for your date?” she grinned at him and he scowled, hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel.

“I don’t know what you are expecting me to find out,” Daniel grumbled.

“Why he was in Iran,” Shaw explained for what felt like the hundredth time. “If he was there to kill Azar or save him. If he’s been having the same communications problems we have.”

Daniel shot her a sullen look. “I could have just asked that over the phone.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Shaw asked, suppressing the smirk and failing miserably. Daniel, too preoccupied by his current predicament, didn’t notice. “What’s the big deal with you and this guy anyway?” Shaw asked. “You know, besides the stalker tendencies.”

Daniel shrugged.

“It’s not like I’m suggesting you go home with him or something,” Shaw said, trying to appease him. She doubted she was going to get very far in his current mood.

“Good,” said Daniel. “Because he does this really weird thing with his tongue and –”

“Too much information,” Shaw said hurriedly, holding her hand up to cut him off. Daniel’s sex life was something she did _not_ need to know about in great detail. It was almost as bad as hearing about Reese’s. “Just look at it this way,” said Shaw, changing the subject quickly before Daniel decided to carry on regardless. “At least you’re not in the same building as Jason anymore.”

Daniel grunted, the reminder not seeming to have Shaw’s desired effect. His sourness at being forced on a date was quickly replaced by anger and his jaw clenched tightly as he stared off into the distance.

Neither of them had actually seen Greenfield yet and Shaw thought that might be a good thing. She couldn’t be sure what either one of them would do if they came face to face with him again.

“What do you think he’s got to do with this?” Daniel asked, not surprising her that he had cottoned onto Root and Greenfield’s reappearance as having something to do with their current situation.

“No idea,” said Shaw, “but I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.”

“Maybe you should talk to her,” Daniel said slowly, as if wary of what he was saying and Shaw felt her anger flare at the suggestion.

“No,” said Shaw firmly. She had nothing to say to Root. If there was pertinent information about their current number that Root knew about, then Shaw would leave it to Finch to get out of her. Shaw didn’t want anything to do with it.

“So you’re just going to ignore it then?” said Daniel like he thought it was a stupid idea. “Pretend she’s not here?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Shaw, staring fixatedly out of the window and watching as people walked up and down the street without a care in the world. Normal people, people who had probably never fired a gun before in their lives, or got shot at on a weekly basis, who didn’t feel that rush of adrenaline, that fire in their veins that told them they were alive.

Shaw thought she might both pity and envy them and wondered what her life would have been like if she had never been forced out of her residency programme.

It didn’t matter now. That part of her life was over and Shaw had never been fond of looking back and dwelling. She put it behind her and moved on.

So why couldn’t she do the same with Root? Why was Root so engrained into her very existence that Shaw couldn’t seem to get her out of her head? She hated it, but didn’t know what she could do to make it stop.

Daniel was looking at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking (and _feeling_ ) and she hated the empathy she saw in his eyes.

“Your date’s here,” she said when he opened his mouth to say something. Some part of her, the reckless part that took over sometimes when she wasn’t careful, wanted to know what he was going to say, what he really thought about Root coming back after all this time. Was he as angry as Shaw was that Root was back? Or was all his energy focused on Jason and that betrayal that still sat so heavily inside of him?

Maybe it was best not to know, not to complicate things even more than they already were.

Daniel sighed as he watched his “date” step inside the restaurant and opened the driver’s door. He made to remove the keys from the ignition, but Shaw grabbed his wrist.

“Leave them,” she said.

“You’re staying?” said Daniel in surprise.

Shaw shrugged. “He might have important information,” she said, smirking as Daniel scowled at her.

“You just want to listen to me suffer,” Daniel muttered, handing her the keys before getting out of the car and heading towards the restaurant. Shaw watched him as he clicked at his earpiece and smiled.

“Maybe a little,” she said, knowing he was listening and probably grinding his teeth together even as he pretended to ignore her. She climbed over into the driver’s seat and shoved the keys back in the ignition, leaving the engine off. It was cold outside, but not enough for her to warrant putting the heating on just yet.

She listened as Daniel was led to his table. He sat down, muttering out an awkward “hello” to his date and exchanged false pleasantries. Shaw rolled her eyes and could picture the false bright smile Daniel was probably producing right now. He always had to be polite, even in the extremist of circumstances. It was probably how he got into this mess in the first place.

“Would you care to see the wine list,” said a voice that Shaw assumed must be their waiter.

“Remember you’re on the job,” Shaw reminded him with a hint of glee when Daniel said, “yes, please.”

“I’m going to need to booze if I’m going to get through this,” Daniel muttered and Shaw snorted when he hurriedly added, “nothing,” when his date questioned him about what he was talking about.

The following ten minutes was boring small talk that made Shaw want to simultaneously roll her eyes and bang her head against the window.

“So how have you been?” Daniel asked as if he actually cared.

“Wow,” said Shaw dully. “Is this how you act on all your dates? I’m surprised you haven’t bored more of them to death.”

“ _You_ can’t comment,” Daniel said tightly, his voice muffled as if he was talking behind his hand or behind a glass or something, “considering you haven’t been out with someone in over a year.”

Shaw scowled at that and decided to keep her mouth shut for the foreseeable future, questioning why she was even here in the first place. Part of it was to give Daniel some back-up, but mostly she just couldn’t face going back to the library. At least here she could pretend she was doing something productive. Even if she did stop listening to Daniel’s conversation, allowing it to fade into the background like a dull drone. Her mind wandered then, back to the library and their number tied to a radiator. She thought about Jason in the cage and what he could possibly have to do with all of this, if he was perhaps here for another reason entirely.

But most off all, she thought about Root.

She had come here to spy on Daniel on his date, not because she didn’t trust him to hold his own, but because she couldn’t stand the idea of coming face to face with Root once again. She knew she would have to eventually, that she couldn’t avoid her forever. Root had been right in that respect. If they were going to work together, Shaw was going to have to acknowledge that she existed.

The burning anger was enough proof of it anyway, that Root was here. That she was real. Shaw couldn’t ignore that, no matter how much she wanted to.

She had spent so long, in those first few months after Root had left, picturing scenarios in her mind of Root coming back. In some of them, Root triumphantly dumped a lifeless Jason at her feet. In others, she would appear at Shaw’s door in the middle of the night, ready to grovel about how she had been stupid to leave in the first place. But sometimes… sometimes she would return, bruised and broken, covered in blood, trembling as she cried. Shaw hated that image most of all.

Then she stopped imagining Root coming back altogether. Somehow, she had managed to convince herself that she didn’t care anymore. In the quiet confines of Daniel’s car, alone in the dark, she could still believe that.

It wasn’t until Root sidled into the passenger’s seat, seemingly out of nowhere, that Shaw realised just how big of a lie that was.

Shaw gripped the steering wheel, staring determinedly straight ahead and tried to focus on what Daniel was saying. It quickly became apparent that it wasn’t going to be as easy to ignore Root, to pretend she didn’t exist, as she had hoped. Not with the way Root’s perfume invaded her senses, the sound of her breathing filling Shaw’s ears.

“What are you doing here?” Shaw asked. She let her annoyance show, but kept the anger hidden. She didn’t want Root to know how much of a reaction her presence alone provoked. She wanted to act aloof, like it didn’t matter to her either way. She wanted not to care and hated that she still did. “If it’s for dating tips from Daniel, then you’re going to be disappointed.”

She heard Daniel grunt in annoyance through her earpiece and she wondered if he realised who was now occupying the car with her.

“The Machine wanted me here,” Root said, leaning her elbow on the window frame and resting her head on her hand. She looked so forlorn that it was hard to associate her with the perky psycho that she had been more than a year ago when Shaw had last seen her.

“Why?” Shaw asked. “Thought you guys weren’t talking.”

“I don’t know,” said Root and Shaw couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or not. “It’s complicated,” she added, “this thing with the Machine. I don’t –”

“Look, if you’re planning on talking my ear off all night,” Shaw snapped, “can you let me know now.”

Root closed her mouth and said nothing more. For a moment, Shaw almost wished she would start talking again. The silence was unbearable and she couldn’t seem to make herself concentrate on what Daniel was saying. It was like an irritating buzz in her ear and eventually, she switched the earpiece off. Daniel wasn’t in any danger. There was no reason for her to be here, sitting alone in a car with Root. She should just get up and leave. Yet, somehow, Shaw found herself staying put.

She imagined she could feel the heat radiating from Root’s body and it suddenly became uncomfortably warm in the confined space of the car.

“How’s Gen?” Root asked, breaking the silence suddenly. Shaw supressed a flinch and tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

“You don’t get to ask about her,” Shaw spat, feeling that anger rage up in her throat again.

“Shaw, I –”

“Shut up,” Shaw snapped. She wanted out. Wanted to pull out her gun and make Root shut up for good. Instead, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it all go until it was nothing more than a pulsing throb beneath her skin. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and desperately wanted to get out of the car, but before she could make a move to do anything, the back door opened and Daniel got into the backseat.

“Dear God, that was awful,” he grumbled. Both Root and Shaw turned to face him and Shaw tried not to wince at how synchronised the manoeuvre must have looked. “Well drive then,” Daniel snapped. “Preferably _before_ Anton sees me.”

“Who?” said Shaw with a frown.

“ _Who?_ ” said Daniel incredulously. “The guy you just made me go on a date with.”

“Oh, right,” said Shaw. Then she snorted. “Anton? That’s a piss ass name.”

Daniel rolled his eyes.

“What did you find out?” Shaw asked, ignoring the way Daniel’s eyes darted between her and Root.

“Nothing,” said Daniel sullenly. “His team got the exact same information we did.”

“To take out Azar?” Shaw asked and Daniel nodded.

“Someone else other than Azar must have sent the message,” Root said.

Shaw clenched her teeth in irritation. More for the fact that Root had a point than that she had spoken again.

“Probably the same person who’s been messing with our communications,” said Daniel.

“Has Anton’s team been having similar problems?” Shaw asked.

Daniel shook his head. “Only that night in the ballroom. Makes me think Control might have had something to do with it after all.”

“Control?” said Root frowning. “What does she have to do with this?”

“She was in Syria,” Daniel explained. “Right after we started having problems –”

“ _Daniel_ ,” Shaw said, her voice a warning. She could feel Root glance at her curiously, but Shaw ignored her. Part of her didn’t want Root to know every detail. Shaw didn’t trust her. They only had Root’s word on how she had managed to capture Jason, her information about Azar being in danger supposedly coming from the Machine, but no way to know that for sure.

They had no way of knowing what Root had been up to this past year and Shaw had no intention of showing their hand if she could help it. For all she knew, Root and Jason could be working together, this all some elaborate ploy. After all, that was what they were both good at. Playing people. The long con.

Daniel, however, looked at her like he didn’t agree with this sentiment, but wisely kept his mouth shut. And if there was a flash of hurt in Root’s eyes that Shaw caught when she turned to face the front again, Shaw chose to ignore it, telling herself, once again, that she didn’t care.

“Anyway,” said Daniel. “It looks like whoever sent it, it was an operative-wide message.”

“How could someone even get that information?” Shaw asked. “The Machine isn’t part of any government. There’s no paper trail.”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but – Oh shit!” Daniel exclaimed.

Frowning, Shaw glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, watching as he slouched down low in his seat.

“Anton,” Daniel hissed, nodding towards the restaurant’s front entrance. “Get down before he recognises you.”

Shaw smirked, eyes on Anton as he stepped out of the restaurant, his shoulders hunched over against the wind. “I think he’s crying,” she said.

“Would you just drive,” Daniel snapped, attempting to move even further down into his seat. At the rate he was going, he was going to end up on the floor in a matter of seconds.

“Fine,” said Shaw, turning the key in the ignition to start the engine. “I’m going.”

 

_//Locating Analogue Interface…_

_//Asset found…_

_//Local time… 20:48…_

Deciding it was probably best to keep her mouth shut, Root had spent the entire car ride back to the library in silence, growing ever more uncomfortable. She wondered why she was even here in the first place, why she had given into the Machine’s insistence that she meet Shaw and Daniel outside that restaurant. There was no purpose to her being here. She could offer nothing or give no new information that would allow them to get to the bottom of this mysterious number sooner. She suspected the Machine was forcing her and Shaw together for other reasons. Those reasons however, at the moment, eluded Root.

Their reunion hadn’t exactly been what Root would have hoped. At least it wasn’t what she had been expecting; which was either a punch to the face or a bullet to a limb. Perhaps that would have been better, that physical pain. Because _this_ … this was so much worse.

Shaw hated her and what she had done. Root could see it in her eyes, in her tightly controlled and fraying temper.

She could have handled that, she thought. It was the quiet distance that Shaw kept trying to maintain that clenched at Root’s heart. Not even allowing Root to explain herself, Shaw kept brushing her off, the anger burning in her eyes every time she accidentally looked at Root.

Telling herself it would get better wasn’t working. Root couldn’t see an end to the anger, couldn’t find a way to bring back that trust. _That_ was lost forever and she suspected Shaw’s trust wasn’t the only one she had lost.

Not even Daniel looked pleased to see her. He looked angry too, but his was more directed at Jason than her. Although sometimes Root caught him looking at her with something akin to disappointment and she thought that anger would be better than that. It was like she had let him down somehow.

And she had.

The moment she had let Daizo step in front of her and take the bullet that was meant for her, Root had let them all down. It was that moment, that split second when the bullet had pierced Daizo’s chest that had changed everything. There was no coming back from that now.

Shaw parked the car a block away from the library and Root waited until both she and Daniel were out of the car and walking down the street. Root watched as they naturally fell into step side by side and imagined the friendly banter that left their mouths with ease. She hated to admit it, but that hurt too, how close they were. It wasn’t so long ago that Daniel would do anything that she asked without question. Now she doubted he would even bother to spare her a glance.

“What am I doing here?” she muttered. There was nothing but silence for a moment, making Root think that her question hadn’t been heard. Or had been ignored.

Eventually, when Root stepped out of the car in response to Shaw’s glare when she turned to lock the door from up the street, the Machine spoke in Root’s ear.

_Trust me._

Root suppressed a shiver, still unused to having the Machine speaking so freely in her ear again.

“Why?” she asked and meant it as a follow-up to her first question, not realising she was actually questioning her trust in the Machine until the word was out of her mouth.

She couldn’t deny it though. She was questioning the Machine; Her motives for bringing Root here, for allowing her to find Jason after so much time spent searching and failing to catch up with him herself. The Machine wasn’t sharing the whole picture with Root though.

It never used to bother her. Root used to enjoy figuring it out on her own with what little scraps of information the Machine chose to give her. She saw it as challenge that proved her worth as the Machine’s analogue interface and she liked to think no one else could do it as well as her.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

The Machine had operatives all around the world, and although Harold had claimed they all believed they were working for some secret branch of their own governments, Root wondered if some of them had managed to work out who they were really working for. And, if they had, was that how a message managed to get sent out to all of the Machine’s operatives with the Machine Herself knowing nothing about it?

The thought didn’t sit well with her as remembered last year and what Jason had done to hide himself from the Machine. Was that why the Machine had wanted to Root to find him? Because what he had done still had some lingering effect?

_No_ , Root thought. She had made sure all of Jason’s tampering was gone, erased all traces of it. Whatever was going on with the Machine, it was down to Root’s code that had ultimately set Her free.

Root thought she had been doing the right thing. Finally allowing the Machine out of the prison of Harold’s code; but the Machine still seemed to be spitting out numbers like She always did. Albeit, the relevant side of things had evolved slightly.

The Machine still cared about humanity, Root had no doubt about that. Cared more than Root could ever really comprehend. It was like a foreign language to her, this caring for other people, complete strangers she would never see again. Root still struggled with it. She struggled to care about a world filled with so much darkness and hate. So much _bad code._

Caring seemed like too much hard work. Didn’t seem worth it anymore.

Root let the other two walk ahead of her, watching as Daniel’s head ducked low in deep discussion with Shaw. It was like watching two other people. They worked well together, could anticipate each other’s next move with relative ease. It was hard for Root to associate Shaw with that comfortableness.

When Root had first heard of Sameen Shaw, read her ISA file, becoming more and more intrigued by every line that she had read, Root had considered Shaw to be a lone wolf type. Her record at going through partners (double figures, and not small ones, Root had noted in amusement at the time) had indicated that Shaw did not work well with others, that she preferred to work alone. If her file was anything to go by, she was good at it. For the first time in a long time, Root had felt some sort of kinship in the covert ISA agent. Root had been fascinated by Shaw from her file alone, and when they met in person, that fascination only increased and it continued to do so with every encounter they had since.

That wasn’t something Root had been used to. She had spent so long, all of her adult life, and most of her teens, thinking other people were beneath her. Nothing more than bad code that couldn’t be fixed. Even her attempts at befriending Harold, whose codes had been so elegant and unique, had failed.

Things had been different with Shaw. She acted irritated most of – well, _all_ of – the time, but she had never told Root to stop or walked away, and she’d had ample opportunity for that.

Even now, Root was still surprised that Shaw had stuck around after Samaritan came online. That she waited in that dull, dead-end job, making drinks for red necks Root was sure she would rather have been pouring drinks over rather than serving. Shaw had waited for some sign from the Machine that it was safe to come out of hiding.

Shaw preferred to work alone, but Root knew she worked well as part of a team. Knew that _they_ worked well. Except Root had gone and messed everything up and whatever comradery she may have once had with Harold and Daniel (perhaps not quite with Reese, but at least the mutual hate had toned down to mere dislike) it was now non-existence.

And whatever she had once had with Shaw… that thing that had evolved so fast between them, so unexpectedly and overwhelmingly, Root knew it could never come back. She had betrayed Shaw almost as badly as Jason had betrayed them all.

The library was warm when Root stepped inside. Still trying to remain seemingly abandoned, most of the lights were off and whatever lamps remained lit, let out a dim glow that didn’t penetrate the darkness that surrounded them. Root stared at her feet as she climbed stairs that used to be so familiar. One of them creaked loudly under her left foot and she recalled how she used avoid that one whenever she was paying a visit. She never did like giving Harold the upper hand.

He hadn’t liked her being in the library these past couple of days, but Root had nowhere else to go and she was reluctant to leave Jason. Despite being secured in the cage and under Reese’s watchful eye, Root still felt uneasy when she wasn’t in the near vicinity where she could keep an eye on him.

There was another reason for her sticking around, surrounded by Harold’s books. She had wanted to be there in case there had been any contact from Shaw. She knew the Machine could have told her, but She had remained silent right up until She told Root that Reese and Harold would be required at JFK. She hadn’t said whether Shaw was all right or not, and Root had sat at Harold’s desk, staring at Jason on the security monitors, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth.

The sheer amount of fear she had felt for Shaw’s life had startled her. She hadn’t thought it would be quite so intense; but it was there, it was real, almost solid in the way it clogged up her throat, choking her.

And then seeing Shaw again for the first time.

Root had felt like someone had slapped her in the face. She wanted to laugh and cry, kiss Shaw hard and never let her go. She had remained where she was though, frozen in place at Harold’s desk as Shaw had stared at her coldly.

It was only for a few seconds, but to Root it felt like a lifetime had passed as they stared at each other across the room before Shaw shoved her prisoner into the next room.

The library got brighter the further upstairs they went; warmer too. She used to hate this place. She hated being locked up here, no contact with the Machine, surround by books that seemed to mock her predicament with their words of knowledge.

But it was the dreams they provoked that she hated most of all.

The library was what she dreamt of, almost every night. Not this one, but one much smaller, more suitable to sustain a small town. Root hadn’t stepped foot in that particular library in years. The last time she did she had still been Sam. After Hanna had disappeared, Root promised herself never to go in there in again. Not if she could help it.

The dreams had stopped after she had escaped. She had worried they would continue, forever, unable to end; but then the Machine had spoken in her ear, and Root found herself much too busy preparing for the upcoming war to worry about silly dreams. It wasn’t until the war was over, when her sleeping habits become slightly more regular, when she allowed herself to relax, feel _safe_ , that the dreams started again.

And worse this time. So much worse.

Root had learned to ignore them, to pretend they didn’t affect her waking hours and a year ago, she almost believed the lie. Ever since she had left on her hunt for Jason though, those dreams, those _nightmares_ , had only gotten worse.

She wasn’t crazy, she knew that, but sometimes in her waking hours, just as daylight was failing, Root saw things. It was her imagination, her mind playing tricks on her. Wishful thinking for a life left far behind. Too much time spent alone. That had been the problem.

Now she was surrounded by people, former teammates, people she cared about, and Root couldn’t stand it. She wanted out of the library, but had nowhere else to go.

“Have we managed to find anything of interest?” Harold asked hopefully as they entered.

Shaw shook her head, but Root thought she could see a smirk playing across her lips, like she was still amused by Daniel’s predicament.

“Looks like our leads have all dried up,” said Daniel.

“Not all of them,” said Root quietly from behind them. She hadn’t realised she had actually spoken aloud until the others turned to face her; Harold and Daniel with curiosity, Shaw with a glare. Root tried not to flinch and had the sudden urge to step backwards into the shadows. “Jason,” she explained. The Machine had wanted him here for a reason, after all.

*

Reese had zip tied Jason’s wrists together at the front. Even from this distance, Root could tell they were too tight, digging unpleasantly into his skin. She hoped it would bleed, but Jason himself gave no indications that he was in any pain.

Root felt a chill run down her spine at the thought of Jason out of the cage. There was more opportunities for him to escape and her hand automatically went to her throat, fingers pressed lightly where his had been squeezing tight. She felt the breath choke in her throat and she inhaled deeply, ridding herself of the memory and the phantom feel of her lungs burning for air.

“May I remind you, Mr Greenfield,” said Harold, standing straight and tall in front of Jason, “that both Mr Reese and Ms. Shaw are armed and unlikely to hesitate in shooting you.”

Jason smirked, like Harold had just offered him a particularly witty non sequitur and not a threat against his life. Root had never seen Harold so bold before and it unnerved her how unfazed Jason seemed by it, the arrogance still bright in his eyes.

“I’m armed too,” Daniel said, stepping forwards out of the gloom so he was in Jason’s line of sight. He looked almost intimidating with the light cast behind him and the thunderous look on his face.

The look didn’t seem to work on Jason, who smirked at the sight of Daniel in front of him.

"Ooh, the gang's all here," Jason crooned, his voice grating on Root's ears.

"Everyone except Daizo," Daniel snarled, fists clenching tightly.

The smile on Jason's face didn't even falter for a second. In fact, Root thought he looked even more amused. She felt nausea rise up her throat and closed her eyes, breathing heavily.

Big mistake.

Gun firing. Daizo in front of her. And then all that blood.

Root opened her eyes but the image was still there, the smell of Daizo's blood all over her hands, his body going still and cold. She shivered and hoped no one had noticed her discomfort, but when she glanced up, she thought she caught Shaw looking quickly away. Root swallowed, not sure what to make of that. If there was anything to it at all. Perhaps it was just her imagination playing tricks on her again.

"I have to say," said Jason, watching Daniel with bright, dangerous eyes. "I'm loving this new side to you, Danny Boy."

Daniel opened his mouth to say something, stepping forward slightly in his anger, but Harold stepped between them, cutting him off.

Now wasn't the time. Harold looked like he wanted to get this over with quickly and Root didn't blame him. So did she. She didn't think she would be able to breathe properly again until Jason was safely locked back up in the cage.

"The Machine brought you here for a reason, Mr Greenfield," said Harold.

Jason chuckled lightly. "Is that what she told you?" He was speaking to Harold but his eyes had found Shaw. He was trying to push her buttons and it was working. Root could see the anger flare in Shaw's eyes before it turned hard as she glared at Jason, her gaze never wavering. Root thought she might believe him though, believe what he was insinuating. She recalled what she had heard up on the roof earlier. Shaw didn't trust her and, really, what reason did she have to? Root had been gone a year, hunting Jason fruitlessly like the fool that she was. A year was a long time. Root herself had no real idea what Shaw had been up to, or the others. For all Shaw knew, Root could have left a trail of bodies in her wake on her quest to catch up with Jason.

She hadn't though. She had been better than that in the end. It was the only thing that had kept her going at times. That she was better than him. That she was doing the right thing. Now Root wasn't so sure either of those things were true.

_We're the same, you and me._

Root shivered, not knowing how true that was.

They _were_ the same once, in a way.

But Root was different now. Or at least she hoped she was.

Maybe Root had changed. Maybe she had become better; but it was oh so easy just to let it all go, to go back to what she once was, what she had been so good at.

She was Root and always would be. She was everything that the name had come to mean. She couldn't hide from that when she was fighting Samaritan and she couldn't hide from it now, more than a year later.

Harold took a picture from his pocket and held it up to Jason's face, ignoring his comment. "Do you recognise this man?"

Jason purposefully stared past the photograph, like this was some chore that was beneath him. "Can't say that I do," he said.

"What about the name Forood Azar?" Harold continued.

"Doesn't ring a bell," said Jason and Root couldn't tell if he was lying or not. She had never been good at that, after all, at knowing if he was lying. She had fallen for his act of the scared little hacker who was in over his head. They all had.

"Are you sure?" Harold asked steadily.

Jason smirked, his eyes landing on Root and it was like he was boring into her, seeing everything. All her dirty secrets and everything she didn't even know about herself. She knew then, that he was lying. He knew who Azar was and why he was here. Root just had no way of proving that to the others.

"As sure as the sky is blue and the grass is green," said Jason. "Why?" he added, putting on a mock pout. "Don't you believe me?"

"Quite frankly, Mr Greenfield," said Harold tiredly. "I don't believe that a single honest word has ever come out of your mouth in all the time that we have known you."

Jason laughed then and Harold gestured for Reese to take him back to the cage.

After they were out of sight, Root finally let out a breath that seemed to take some of the tension in her shoulders with it.

"So he was lying," said Shaw, staring after Jason and Reese. She looked calmer than she had been earlier and Root wondered if it would last. If she really had let it all go and was solely focused on the mission.

"Hm," said Harold, glancing at the photo of Azar. "Possibly."

"Possibly?" said Daniel incredulously. "You know we can't trust a word that comes out of his mouth, right?"

"His presence here could merely be a coincidence," said Harold reasonably and if anything, Daniel looked even more angry.

"He was lying," said Root quietly into the room. They heard her though, Shaw giving her a glare as the other two looked at her curiously. "He had to be."

"You don't sound very sure," said Harold, frowning.

Root shrugged. She had no answer for him. Just her instincts and her knowledge of Jason. The Machine was as silent as ever, leaving them to work it out on their own.

"Why don't you just ask the Machine," Shaw snapped, like she knew what Root had been thinking.

"I tried," said Root reluctantly. Her connection to the Machine was the only thing that kept her here. She didn't know what they would do if they knew the Machine was barely talking to her, only giving her snippets of information as needed. She pictured them throwing her out again into the cold, like Shaw had done so long ago now. She didn't know what she would do or where she could go if they did. "She won't tell me," Root continued, watching as Shaw's jaw clenched.

"Are you lying?" she asked scathingly, her words cutting into Root like a knife.

"No," said Root, but all three of them were looking at her like they didn't believe her, standing so far away and apart from Root that she thought she may as well not be here at all. Because what was the point? They didn't trust her and she had nothing to offer. She was just _there_ like a cold hard reminder of everything that had gone wrong in their lives.

Shaw glared at her one last time before turning on her heel and storming into the room where they were keeping the Iranian locked up, slamming the door shut behind her.

Harold flinched and moved towards his desk. "Well that seemed rather unsuccessful."

Root wasn't sure if he was referring to their interrogation or her attempts at a conversation with Shaw that didn't end in an argument or with Shaw storming away.

"Mr Casey," Harold asked, "care to assist me in investigating the problems with your communications?"

Daniel nodded, shooting Root a sheepish look and a small smile as he walked past her. Relief and something warm and safe filled her at that and, for a moment, she allowed herself to believe that Daniel still saw her as Root, that all his anger and betrayal was directed at Jason and not at her. Then she remembered the conversation on the roof, how she had listened to more of it than she should of. He would take Shaw's side, have her back like a good and loyal partner should. Root had no doubt about that.

As she stood alone in the middle of the room, surrounded by shelves in the half darkness, Root felt more alone than she ever had in her entire life.


	7. Part 1: Chapter 7

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Local time… 07:17…_

Azar turned his nose up at the energy bar that Shaw had brought him for breakfast, but after she informed him it was that or nothing, he slowly took a bite, sneering at her like she was forcing him to eat something far more unpleasant than protein and sugar. Then he was obnoxiously slow about eating the damn thing, making Shaw want to shove it down his throat in frustration.

"Come on," Shaw said, cutting him loose from the radiator and tossing him an old waterproof mac, frayed at the edges. "Put that on. We're going on a trip."

He was deliberately slow about that too, his face creasing into a frown. Shaw wasn't surprised. The thing stank of piss and she wondered if Bear had been using it instead of demanding Harold or someone else to take him out for a walk. But, then again, Bear was well trained. She tried not to think about any other possibilities of where the smell could have come from.

Jacket on, Shaw made Azar hold his wrists out so she could zip tie him again. Satisfied that he was secure, wrists unlikely to be free to use any time soon, Shaw shoved him ahead of her and out of the library. She had a car waiting outside and she pushed Azar into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut before moving around to the driver's side. She felt on edge as she did it, glancing up and down the street for any signs of Control and her operatives. But, so far, there was nothing. Which was unnerving in itself.

What the hell was Control waiting for?

It was a thought that had been circulating in her head on and off since bringing Azar to the library. Somehow - and it pissed Shaw off that she still hadn't worked out how - Control was following her and Daniel. Turning up in Iran, Syria before that and some of their other missions too. There was no possibility Control was getting her intel from the Machine and Shaw rarely told anyone beforehand where she was going. The only other person who did know was Daniel.

Shaw had a sudden, chilling thought then that she quickly pushed away. Because this was _Daniel_ and Shaw trusted him with her life.

But they had been compromised, and until Shaw figured out why Azar wanted to be in the country, why his number came up and why someone had sent all of the Machine's operatives after him, Shaw wasn't willing to take any risks. Hiding Azar somewhere where even she didn't know where he was, was the safest course of action.

Shaw managed to avoid the worst of the rush hour traffic as she made her way across town. Azar remained silent in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window. It was his first time in New York, but he didn't look like he was enjoying the scenery all that much.

Shaw parked out front of a low rise apartment building, telling Azar to stay where he was until she had moved around to his side of the car. The street looked clear and, once again, Azar didn't try anything as Shaw guided him out of the car and inside the apartment building, up several flights of stairs until she was standing outside a familiar door, knocking on it briskly.

There was no answer and Shaw couldn't hear any movement from within. She knocked again, this time more impatiently and thought she could hear a crash from somewhere far into the depths of the apartment. A few moments later, the door was pulled open and Shaw was faced with a grumpy, flustered looking Lionel Fusco dressed in a fluffy white dressing gown, his short hair a wild, dishevelled mess.

Fusco took one look at her, then at Azar before turning to her again and saying, "I'm on vacation."

"Not anymore, you're not," said Shaw, pushing Azar inside, forcing Fusco out of the way. He scowled at her but didn't make any protests as she directed Azar to sit on the floor by the radiator.

"Might be easier if we use your cuffs," said Shaw. "I'm out of zip ties anyway."

"No way," said Fusco. "Whoever he is - _no way_."

"It's just for a few days," Shaw said and started rummaging through Fusco's things in search of his handcuffs.

"Which part of "I'm on vacation" did you not get?" he asked haughty, moving towards her and smacking her hands away from his stuff. "Stop that."

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," Shaw said.

Fusco sighed heavily and opened a drawer on the bureau, pulling out the set of handcuffs that were resting next to his badge and his gun and handing them over to Shaw. She took them with a smirk, moving towards Azar and handcuffing one of his wrists to the radiator. She kept the zip tie on for now, not caring that his new position was probably extremely uncomfortable and straining on his injury. Muttering a warning to him in Farsi, Shaw turned around to find Fusco staring at her with his mouth hanging open slightly.

"Who is he anyway?" Fusco asked.

"No one important," Shaw said. Fusco didn't need to know and was probably safer _not_ knowing anyway. "Just dangerous."

Fusco sighed and shook his head. "You’re lucky my kid's out of town on a school trip."

"Yeah yeah," Shaw said, heading towards Fusco's kitchen and ignored as he glared in protest when she began searching through his fridge for something to eat. "Just don't let him out of your sight," she added, pulling out some questionable looking leftover takeout and giving it a quick sniff. It smelled off and she pulled a disgusted face moving to dump it in the trash.

"Hey!" Fusco called, snatching it from her, and placing it on the far counter, safely out of her reach. "What am I supposed to do with him?"

Shaw shrugged, turning back to her investigation of the contents of Fusco's refrigerator. "I dunno - teach him some English? Bore him to death with your kid's hockey stories?" she added, smirking at him over her shoulder and grinning when he glared at her. She pulled out a box of Hot Pockets and straightened herself. "Don't you have any real food?" she complained, shooting him a disapproving look. "Thought we talked about your cholesterol."

"Talked?" Fusco scoffed. " _You_ lectured," he snapped, grabbing the Hot Pockets out of her hands and waving his arms at her until she moved out of the way, "there was no talking involved."

"Whatever," Shaw muttered, this time setting her sights on one of the cupboards.

"Would you stop," Fusco grumbled. He shoved a wilting banana under her nose and slammed the cupboard door shut. "See, I eat healthy."

“Pretty sure this doesn’t count,” Shaw said flatly, eyes narrowing as Fusco continued to glare at her. “Don’t leave town with him; take him someplace safe. But don’t tell me where.”

“I’m supposed to be meeting some old college buddies in Atlantic City,” Fusco whined. “ _Not_ babysitting for you and the rest of Team Mysterious.”

Shaw smirked at that. “Postpone the trip.”

“No,” said Fusco through tightened lips.

Shaw wanted to roll her eyes at his petulance but decided to hold off for now, despite how much she hated hearing him whine like a baby.

“Did I mention Harold was paying for any expenses?” Shaw said casually, smirking when Fusco perked up at that.

“Now you’re talking,” said Fusco and this time he didn’t protest when Shaw opened the box of pop tarts on the counter and grabbed herself a packet.

“Here,” she said, tossing him a credit card. She didn’t think there was any need to tell him that Finch didn’t actually know she had taken it this morning. “Don’t let him out of your sight,” she added, taking a bite of the pop tart, her mouth-watering at the sugary taste. “And stay on your guard.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Fusco, gesturing for her to get out of his kitchen.

*

Back at the library, Daniel and Finch were still working on solving what had happened to their communications both in Syria and Iran. It was getting to the point where Shaw thought the investigation was turning a bit fruitless. She didn’t say anything to either of them though, just informed them that Azar was in safe hands.

With Azar taken care of and nothing for her to do, Shaw quickly became bored and found her mind wandering to places she would rather it didn’t go. That problem with not being kept busy again and after a restless night of barely any sleep, Shaw was on edge. She had spent the night tossing and turning in bed, thinking about _her_ and when she did manage to fall asleep, Shaw _dreamt_ about her. Half-forgotten memories and what might have happened on the roof if Shaw had given into at least one of her urges.

There was no sign of Root now and Shaw wondered if she was downstairs, speaking to Greenfield. Or maybe she had gone, somewhere far away, never to return.

Her wishful thinking got her nowhere and Shaw felt that mild burning anger sitting heavily in her throat when Root appeared, bearing a tray of coffee cups. Shaw looked away as she passed her, pretending to be engrossed by whatever Harold and Daniel were discussing, her plan failing when they paused to accept the coffee and green tea for Harold that Root had bought for them.

“You still take it black, right?” Root asked her and it took Shaw a moment to realise that the to-go cup she was holding out was intended for her.

“No thanks,” Shaw said coldly, even though she could kill for some caffeine right now. She saw Harold pause halfway to blowing on his steaming tea, raising an eyebrow at her curiously as Root continued to hold the coffee out awkwardly as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it now that it had been rejected.

“I’ll take it,” said Daniel, taking the cup from Root and shooting Shaw a sheepish look when she glared at him. It was just coffee, but to Shaw, Daniel acknowledging it, _accepting_ it, on behalf of her felt like a betrayal. “So, I’ve been thinking,” said Daniel in what Shaw thought was a deliberate attempt at changing the subject and defusing the awkwardness now filling the room unpleasantly.

“What?” Shaw asked, hardly daring to ask. She wasn’t sure she liked where his train of thought was going and could tell by the way he carefully avoided her eyes that he knew she wouldn’t like it.

“Well...” said Daniel slowly. “We want to know why Azar would want to get into the country, right?”

“Right,” Shaw agreed, glancing at Harold for confirmation and wondering if he was in on Daniel’s new plan.

“Then can’t we just ask someone?” Daniel asked as if it was obvious.

“No,” said Shaw firmly.

“You don’t even know what I was going to suggest,” Daniel complained.

“Pretty sure I do,” said Shaw and she was right. She didn’t like it.

“Oh, come on,” said Daniel. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I can think of several things,” said Shaw and most of them came from experience. A syringe in her side came to mind then and she winced slightly at the memory of the feeling of her heart stopping.

She knew what Daniel was suggesting and it was dangerous and stupid regardless of the fact that, at the moment, it was probably their only option.

Because Control had to have been following them for a reason _other_ than simply to get to the Machine. She had been in Tehran when things had gone down and she had managed to track them back to New York. But that didn't mean that Control was willing to share with them. And Shaw wondered what it would take, what the cost would be to get that information.

"Mr Casey has a point, Ms Shaw," Harold chimed in, sipping at his tea delicately and watching her over the top of his cup. "We don't have many options."

"This is a bad idea," said Shaw. Her tone was resigned and Daniel grinned at her because he knew he had won.

"Think it's about time you went on that date," said Daniel, tossing a cell phone at her. Somehow, as Shaw caught the phone and glared, his stupid grin only got wider.

 

//Locating assets…

//Asset Sameen Shaw found…

//Location…Central Park, New York…

//Local time… 12:22…

"Hello, Agent Shaw."

Shaw flinched. Control was twenty minutes late. Any longer and she would have bailed already. Actually, she would have bailed sooner, but both Harold and Daniel had told her to stay put. She had only complied because it meant she didn't have to go back to the library. Despite its warmth (which would be so welcome now, Shaw thought as she shivered on the park bench) she couldn't stand the thought of being near Root.

At least waiting here, out in the cold, gave her the illusion of keeping busy. And, thankfully, Root was nowhere in sight with some ridiculous orders from the Machine.

"Madam Control," said Shaw, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Control didn't seem to notice the disrespect directed at her as she took a seat next to Shaw. A respectable distance, but Shaw still felt like edging away from her.

"Where are your vigilante friends hiding?" Control asked, glancing around the park, looking like she was expecting Reese to jump out from behind the large oak tree shedding its brown leaves in time for winter. Shaw knew the question was intended to misdirect, that Control was late because she probably had her boys scouting the place first before she came anywhere near Shaw and her park bench.

"I came alone," Shaw lied. Daniel wasn't far, listening in to their conversation. She felt a flash of envy at the thought of him sitting warm in a car right now. "Just like you asked."

Control smiled, almost slyly and Shaw knew she didn't believe her.

It didn't matter. Shaw had no doubt Control had her own back-up teams swarming the place, keeping her surrounded.

"How did you like Tehran?" Shaw asked, staring straight ahead, watching as joggers passed and couples strolled lazily along the leaf covered path.

"Wasn't to my tastes," Control admitted. "Didn't stay long."

"Me neither," said Shaw and decided to just go straight for the jugular. Dancing around the issue was tiresome and pointless. "What's your interest in my number?"

" _Your_ number?" said Control, her voice full of surprise. "I didn't realise he was exclusive."

Shaw frowned at that.

"Sounds like Control might know about the Machine's other operatives," said Daniel through her earpiece. Shaw agreed with him and wondered how many other ISA agents were working for the Machine again.

Shaw stayed silent, knowing Control would give her the information she needed as long as she waited. She wouldn't have agreed to meet otherwise.

"Forood Azar is a very dangerous man," Control said after a few moments.

"Seemed pretty mild to me," Shaw muttered absently, recalling Azar's calm attitude to being both kidnapped and shot all in the space of ten minutes.

"Didn't think you were one to be fooled by appearances, Agent Shaw," Control said. It was almost like she was disappointed. Like she had expected more from her.

Shaw shrugged. She had no doubt Azar was dangerous; but, so far, he hadn't tried anything.

"I'm not," said Shaw. "So how about we cut to the chase and you tell me what his deal is; why the NSA, the FBI – why _you_ – are watching him."

Control smirked, glancing away from Shaw. Silence settled around them for a moment.

"You know," Control began, "just because the Northern Lights program shut down, just because we stopped _watching_ , doesn't mean the Pentagon... doesn't mean _I'm_ not dedicated to fighting for the safety and freedom of this country."

"So that's what this is about?" Shaw asked. "Protecting the country?"

"How many terrorists did you kill when you worked for me, Agent Shaw?"

Shaw shrugged. “No idea.”

_One hundred and eight_.

She had counted them all. Remembered each and every one of their crimes and why she had to kill them. She remembered how she did it too. Every bullet. Every lethal injection.

"You know I can't just kill him, right?" said Shaw, wondering if that was what she was implying.

"I know," Control replied.

"Or hand him over," Shaw added, feeling more glad than ever that she had delivered Azar to Fusco, far out of Control's reach.

“I’m not asking you to,” said Control, surprising Shaw.

“Then why –”

“He has information,” said Control.

“What kind of information?” Shaw asked. Control said nothing and Shaw felt her frustration growing. “Look,” she said steadily, “I can’t help you unless you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Shaw felt her frustration growing, but she kept it well hidden, didn’t let Control see the fist that had clenched tight at her side.

“Have you had time to rethink my job offer, Agent Shaw?” Control asked.

“What?” said Shaw, frowning hard. She had almost forgotten what Control had said to her in Syria. So much had happened since then that Control’s ridiculous job offer had been pushed to the back of her mind.

“I’m not interested,” Shaw said firmly. She was content with her life and wasn’t looking to change it anytime soon. She liked working with Daniel, and with Finch and Reese whenever she was in town.

But there was a thought itching in the back of her head. _What if Root stayed? What then?_

Shaw pushed the thought away and forced herself to focus on the mission. She hadn’t been interested in the job when she was in Syria and just because Root was back now didn’t change anything.

“Perhaps you should be,” said Control.

“Why?” asked Shaw.

Control sighed heavily, so loud in the stillness of the park that it made Shaw glance over to her. It wasn't until then that Shaw took note of how exhausted Control looked and she doubted it was to do with jetlag.

"A week ago," Control began, her voice low like she was wary of someone overhearing them, "the codes for several nuclear warheads were stolen from a military base in New Mexico."

"And you think Azar and his extremist group are responsible?" Shaw asked.

"Possibly," Control said. "Or at least interested in buying the codes for themselves."

It explained why Azar was so keen on entering the country if the codes were still here, but it didn't explain who had been responsible for orchestrating the whole thing. Shaw was sure Azar had not been expecting several operatives intent on killing him. And, regardless of who was responsible, how could they have possibly known that Finch would call Shaw in time to stop her from ending Azar's life?

_Jason_ , she thought suddenly and knew with a cold, hard certainty that he was involved in this somehow. He was more familiar with the Machine than Shaw would like. If anyone could have worked out how to send a message to all of the Machine's operatives then it was him.

Shaw didn't share that information with Control though. She didn't even think Jason was on Control's radar. It would be so easy for him to organise all this, wait patiently to be captured by Root and brought back to the one place he needed to be.

Even if he had been nowhere near New Mexico when the codes were stolen, Shaw had no doubt he could have hired someone to do it for him. It wouldn't be the first time Jason had remained hidden in the shadows as someone else did his dirty work for him.

So if Jason was the middle man and Azar was the buyer, then who and where was their seller?

"Where are the warheads?" Shaw asked, already suspecting the answer and not liking it one bit.

"That's not of your concern," said Control.

"They're on the East coast?" Shaw said and could tell from Control's silence that she had guessed correctly. She didn't probe any further though. Control had already told her more than enough and probably more than she should have to someone without an ounce of security clearance. Someone who was officially declared dead. But, Shaw supposed, that at least gave Control some element of deniability.

"It's imperative that we find those codes, Agent Shaw," said Control, climbing to her feet and Shaw knew that the conversation was almost over. " _Before_ it's too late."

Her tone was grave as Control began to walk away and Shaw knew then that there was more to it than the little Control had said, that she was holding something vital back. There was enough information for Shaw to work with, however and she shivered again at the thought of nuclear warhead codes out there in the hands of someone likely to be on Jason's payroll. She sat silently for a moment, watching as Control disappeared in amongst the throng of people now swarming the park and wondered how many of them were working for Control. They were good, she would give them that. Shaw couldn't spot them easily.

"Daniel," said Shaw, still staring off into the distance. Her voice sounded faraway to her own ears and she could only wonder what she sounded like to him. "You get all that?"

"Yeah," said Daniel, his voice raspy with nerves. "Nuclear warheads?"

Shaw could hear the fear as he spoke and knew he was probably imaging the worst possible scenarios. "Focus," Shaw reminded him, pushing herself off the bench and walking in the direction of the street he was parked on. "I think we can rule out Control being the one messing with our communications."

"We can?" said Daniel, sounding surprised.

"Yeah," said Shaw. It wasn't so much what Control had said, but what she _hadn't._ What had been implied in-between the lines if you were listening carefully enough. If Control was searching for the missing codes, then what the hell had she been doing in Syria? It could only mean that she'd had a lead. A lead that had coincided with Shaw's mission at the time. "You remember our missing seller?" Shaw asked, bitterness clawing up her throat as she recalled how they had gotten away without Shaw being able to even get eyes on them.

“Yes,” said Daniel slowly. Shaw pictured him frowning in confusion, slowly mulling over the facts in his mind. She knew he would figure it out eventually on his own with little prompting from her. “You think they had something to do with the missing codes?” said Daniel hesitantly.

“I don’t think that was a munitions deal,” said Shaw, walking out of the park and onto an even busier New York street. She could see Daniel’s car up ahead and headed towards it. “I think they were setting up a deal for the codes.”

“The guns were a cover,” said Daniel, sounding surer of himself now that he knew what Shaw was getting at.

“It was the same group as Azar’s,” said Shaw bitterly, wondering how she had never put two and two together before now. The seller had been within their reach and Shaw had let them get away. It made more sense now, how they had been compromised and she thought that whoever it was must have been hanging around after Shaw and Daniel left the airbase, scoping them out and somehow figuring out who they were and what they were working for.

She was even more convinced now that Jason had something to do with it.

“We need to speak to Greenfield again.”

 

_//Locating Analogue Interface…_

_//Asset found…_

_//Local time… 14:34…_

It was the Machine that told her Shaw and Daniel were back from their meeting with Control. It was Harold that informed her they were in the cage, confronting Jason.

Root had rushed downstairs, heedless of Harold’s calls behind her. He had seemed worried as he stared at his monitors depicting the library’s security feeds. It made her wonder what the hell Shaw was doing and her only thought as she half ran down the stairs was, _he’s mine._

She wasn’t about to let anyone else kill him. Not now. Not after everything. He was hers. She had spent a year looking for him by herself with no contact with the Machine or anyone else and she wasn’t about to let anyone else have the satisfaction of ending his life.

That was her reward at the end of her sacrifice. She deserved to do it. No one else.

When Root reached the cage, Shaw had Jason pressed up against a bookshelf, Daniel standing just inside the entrance, watching with angry eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Root asked, her voice startling both Daniel and Shaw. Jason just smirked.

Shaw glanced at her briefly, eyes darting so fast Root almost didn’t see it before Shaw was pressing Jason harder into the bookshelf.

“Doing this my way,” Shaw said through clenched teeth.

Jason grunted underneath the pressure, his arms strained in the hold Shaw had him in and, for a moment, Root wished Shaw would press harder, break his arms and make him suffer.

Root quickly realised she wouldn’t though. This display, this _show_ , of anger was exactly that. A show. Shaw was playing Jason, using her anger as a tool to get what she wanted. Root just wasn’t sure what that was.

“Tell me what you know, Jason,” said Shaw.

“Or what?” Jason’s voice was strained as he spoke. Root hoped he was in pain.

“Or I let Daniel do what he’s been itching to do ever since you came back here,” Shaw threatened.

Root thought that was a mistake. Jason only smirked in response.

“You don’t know him like I do, Jason,” said Shaw. “He’s not the same person you left behind.”

Glancing at Daniel, Root saw him swallow with some degree of difficulty. His eyes were still hard and cold, but Root could tell killing wouldn’t come easy for him. No matter who it was he aimed his gun at.

“Awh, how sweet,” Jason crooned. “Didn’t know you two were _that_ close.”

Root flinched at the implication in Jason’s voice, eyes darting between Shaw and Daniel, wondering if there was some truth to it. Neither of them reacted, however; Shaw just looked more pissed off.

“I know you know about the codes,” Shaw said darkly into Jason’s ear. “So make this easier on yourself and tell me who you hired to steal them.”

“Codes?” said Root, but neither Daniel or Shaw acknowledged her. The Machine did though; giving Root a brief explanation of Shaw’s meeting with Control. Root frowned, wondering why the Machine hadn’t just told them that sooner. It was almost like She was playing a game with them too.

“I told you, I don’t,” Jason spat and this time he did sound like he was in pain. “But I know some people who might.”

“Who?” Shaw asked.

“Old contacts… clients,” said Jason.

“I want names,” Shaw demanded.

Jason chuckled humourlessly. “There are no names. Aliases. Nicknames. It’s all anonymous.”

That was something Root was familiar with. Back in the day, Root had more than her fair share of contacts, each and every one of them more shady than the next. She wouldn’t be surprised if she and Jason had crossed paths with the same people on more than one occasion.

Root felt a chill run up her spine at that thought, thinking once again about just how similar they were.

“Then how do I find them?” Shaw asked.

“You don’t,” said Root, suddenly realising what Jason was hoping for and not liking it one bit. He was stuck in this cage with no technology, no contact with the outside world. Root knew what he was itching for. The same thing she had wanted when she had been locked up in here with no escape.

He wanted a computer and Root shivered at the thought of what he could do if he had one.

“You want those codes,” said Jason, “I can set up a meeting.”

He sounded desperate, but Root knew he was far from it. He wanted this. For whatever reason, this was something he wanted and Root would rather attempt another fruitless conversation with Shaw than let Jason get what he wanted.

“Shaw,” said Root, realising her mistake too late. She should have said nothing, remained silent and let Shaw come to her own conclusions about how much of a bad idea this was. All Root’s protests had done was blind her judgement. Shaw was going to do the exact opposite of what Root said, just because Root had been the one to say it.

“You think I would be here willingly if there was a chance of a nuclear bomb going off?” Jason said. It was convincing, Root would give him that and it was enough for Shaw, who finally released him. He slumped his shoulders slightly, swinging his arms to get the blood circulating. Whatever relief he had was short lived. Shaw grabbed hold of him once again, tying his wrists together before leading him out of the cage.

"Don't," said Root, stepping in Shaw's way as she made to push Jason in front of her.

"Get out of my way," Shaw growled.

"Shaw," Root began, choosing her words carefully, "don't let your feelings about me cloud your judgement."

"I don't have any feelings about you," Shaw spat.

It felt like a punch to her gut and, for a moment, Root felt like she couldn't breathe. This time she stepped out of the way when Shaw told her to move and didn’t try to stop her or follow. It took her awhile to realise Daniel was staring at her and she couldn't figure out what the look on his face meant.

"You know this is a bad idea," said Root and could tell Daniel had the same concerns as her by the way he quickly looked away. He hated this, hated having Jason so close just as much as she did.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Daniel asked quietly.

"I wanted to," said Root. She still wanted to. More than anything, she wanted him to pay for what he had done to Daizo.

"You should have," said Daniel coldly and she thought he might just be capable of it himself after all, that maybe Shaw _had_ been on the right track when she used him as a threat against Jason.

"She wouldn't let me," said Root, thinking about the poison in Jason’s drink, how easy it would have been for her to just pour the antidote onto the floor, never allowing a single drop of it to go past his lips. But the Machine had stopped her, for reasons Root still couldn’t see.

“Why?” asked Daniel.

Root shrugged. “We need his help.” She doubted she managed to keep the scepticism out of her tone and was surprised when Daniel didn’t comment on it. He was used to seeing her take orders from the Machine without question, and now she was questioning everything.

“Then maybe this _is_ the right thing to do,” said Daniel.

Root stared after him for a moment, her mouth hanging open in surprise as she watched him follow Shaw upstairs to Harold’s office. She had kind of walked into that one, but it still didn’t feel right, letting Jason out, regardless of whether or not he could help.

The Machine was silent once again as Root left the cage that had, for a time, been her own prison. It had only been a short period of time, a few months at most, but to Root it had seemed like a lifetime. It was also the longest she had ever stayed in the one place since leaving Bishop. She thought those four walls lined with books, the cage door and the narrow, uncomfortable bed would be engrained in her mind forever. They resonated with loneliness, those four walls and Root could so easily picture them in her mind when she closed her eyes, could feel the loneliness as sharp and as cruel as ever. Silence rained down on her and Root shivered.

Remembering that there were security cameras pointed at the cage and that anyone could be watching her right now, Root quickly left, heading upstairs. She found Jason already at a computer, Harold and Shaw flanking either side of him as they supervised what he was doing. Root felt a little better at that. She doubted there was much Jason could get past Harold.

Daniel was nowhere in sight and Root wondered if he was up on the roof again, hitting small stones at other buildings with his golf club.

“It’s going to take some time for them to respond,” Jason said when he was done.

“Good,” said Shaw, grabbing his elbow and lifting him to his feet. “Then you can just wait in your cage.”

“What?” said Jason mockingly as Shaw dragged him back towards the stairwell, “no day release for good behaviour?”

Shaw said nothing as she marched him past Root, both of them disappearing out of sight.

“You can relax, Ms. Groves,” said Harold, sitting back down at his computer. “He didn’t try anything.”

“That you know of,” said Root, not liking how Harold was so easily calm.

“Why didn’t the Machine tell us about the codes?” Harold asked.

Root shrugged, crossing her arms tightly across her chest and leaning against one of the bookshelves, looking more casual than she probably felt.

“I don’t know, Harry,” said Root. “She’s your Machine.”

Harold frowned. “Is she? You changed her, did you not?”

Root glanced away. “I set her free.”

“Free?” said Harold. “And that doesn’t concern you?”

“Relax, Harold,” said Root, pushing herself from the bookshelf and moving towards him. “She still cares. You taught her well.”

“Did I?” said Harold, looking unconvinced. “Unchained, free to do as She wishes… we have no idea what the Machine is doing. _You_ have no idea.”

Root flinched at that, wondering if he had guessed just how silent the Machine had been this past year.

“She has countless operatives around the world, following orders with no accountability. No one verifying the information,” said Harold, almost desperately. Root wondered how long he had been thinking about this, how many sleepless nights had been spent worrying about his Machine. “She is guiding the hand of humanity in ways we cannot foresee.”

Root was silent for a moment. The Machine cared. She had taught Root to care, perhaps in a similar way as to how Harold had once taught Her. But now Harold couldn’t see it. He was scared of what he had created and what She had become.

“Perhaps,” said Root, “but not everyone does exactly as She says.” She was thinking of Shaw and Daniel, who had the advantage of knowing what they were working for, allowing them to make decisions that other operative teams could never be capable of.

“You do,” said Harold.

Something like ice settled in Root’s heart. She hadn’t listened to the Machine in so long, ignored every one of Her pleas to stop in her fruitless hunt for Jason.

“Look how easily She managed to dissuade you from killing Jason,” Harold continued.

Swallowing seemed like a difficult concept to Root, and she ducked her head slightly, staring at her feet. It wasn’t shame she felt about wanting to kill Jason and Harold knowing about it; it was that Harold seemed to understand. He may not condone it, but he understood why she had left. Why she had to find him. And why she had ignored the Machine in doing so.

“She stopped talking,” said Root, finding it difficult to speak, her voice so quiet she wasn’t sure Harold had even heard her. “I stopped listening and She stopped talking.”

“She wanted you to come home,” Harold guessed.

Root felt like laughing at that, like it was the funniest joke she had ever heard. “I don’t have home,” she said. It was a truth she was used to it by now, but it still hurt like hell when she said it out loud.

“You did once,” said Harold. “You built a life here, you were happy. Perhaps She wanted –”

“She wanted me as Her analogue interface,” said Root harshly, making him flinch. “That’s who I am – who I _was._ ”

“And you think when you stopped listening,” said Harold, “that She decided to let you go?”

Root shrugged, shaking her head because she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything anymore.

“I think you’re wrong,” said Harold and Root looked at him sharply, feeling her eyes pricking uncomfortably. “I think She was going to let you go long before that. I think She wanted you to have that life.”

Root shook her head.

Maybe he was right. Maybe the Machine had been planning on setting her free too. But it didn’t matter. That kind of life, that wasn’t for her. It was for Shaw either. They had been good at pretending for a while, that it was something they could do. It was a lie that left both their mouths too easily and Root supposed it was only inevitable that things had ended the way they did.

She only had herself to blame for that.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” said Root, wiping her eyes dry with the back of her hand. “It’s over.”

“And the Machine is still free,” said Harold. Still that worry remained in his eyes, in his heart, and Root doubted there was anything she could ever say to make that go away.

“And we still have a job to do,” said Shaw from behind them.

Root flinched, wondering how long Shaw had been standing there, listening to them discuss the Machine. She glanced over her shoulder, glad she had her emotions under control and knew that was lie as her eyes landed on Shaw and felt her stomach clench tight and her throat clog up. Shaw wasn’t looking at Root, still doing her best to ignore her, to act like Root wasn’t even there, but Root knew she had heard everything.

She just had no idea what Shaw thought about it. If she even thought about it at all.

If she even cared.


	8. Part 1: Chapter 8

_//Searching Archive..._

_//Data found..._

_//System date unknown... rough estimate... 2 months, 9 days ago…_

_//Data retrieved..._

Darkness.

That was all that Root knew for the longest time. It swallowed her whole and left her empty and cold in the silence that surrounded her.

It seemed like years had passed before she became aware of anything else.

Voices. A language Root couldn’t understand.

Root groaned until the noise stopped, allowing the darkness to take over once again.

The next time she became aware, it was more than just voices. The darkness wasn’t so black and Root dared herself to open her eyes. They felt like lead, like someone had sewn them shut. Sore to open as light penetrated her eyes and she quickly shut them again, taking a few breaths before trying again.

The second time was much easier. Her vision was blurry and her eyes felt dry, but the brightness didn’t hurt quite as much.

Her surroundings were unfamiliar in that she had never been here before, but the hospital equipment was undeniable and the same no matter the country.

Root remembered then, what had happened. Her muscles started to ache now that she was more aware of herself and she remembered the blast, throwing her backwards, landing heavily on the ground with a thud. Her head had hit something solid and hard and Root felt at her temple, feeling a bandage where she had hit against a rock.

It was sore as she pressed her fingertips to it and Root hissed, wondering how long she had been unconscious. She was in a hospital gown and a single room. Definitely not an emergency room which implied an extended stay.

Root frowned and looked under the bed for some clothes.

Nausea and dizziness hit her almost immediately and she pulled herself back up, breathing heavily as she closed her eyes until it passed. When it did and she felt a little more steady, Root swung her feet over the side of the bed. The floor was cold underneath her bare feet and that combined with the thin gown sent a shiver down her spine.

There was nothing under the bed, so Root checked inside the small cabinet sitting at the side, a jug half-filled with water resting on the top. Despite her dry throat, Root left it for now, finding her clothes in a clear plastic bag. They were dirty and ripped in places, still covered in her blood, but Root didn’t care. She quickly emptied the bag onto the bed and slowly pulled them on, shedding the hospital gown and tossing it aside.

_Stay._

Root flinched, pulling on the last of her clothes. She remembered now how she had actually managed to survive the blast. The Machine had told her to run. It was the first time She had spoken to Root in months and it was the first time in a long time that Root had actually listened to her.

She had been _so_ close. She almost had him and she felt bitterness rise in her throat at the thought that he had gotten away from her once again.

“How long have I been here?” Root asked, pouring some of the water from the jug into a plastic cup. Her hands were shaking and she ended up getting most of it on the side than in the cup. She felt weak and tired and wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

_Three days._

Root clutched the cup tightly in her hand and brought it to her dry and cracked lips. She was still aching all over and she noticed for the first time the bandage wrapped tightly around her hand. The water was tepid and stale and it did nothing to ease Root’s parched throat.

Three days was a long time. Jason could be anywhere by now.

Root had a lot of work to do, but, once again, the Machine told her to stay.

“I need to go,” said Root. _I need to find him._

_You need rest._

“I’ll rest when I find him,” she said, almost like a challenge. She waited a beat, but the Machine was silent. Eventually, knowing that she wasn’t going to convince the Machine otherwise, Root closed the distance between her and the door. It opened before she could get there. A man in a lab coat with a stethoscope dangling loosely around his neck blocked her way out of the room.

Root assumed he must be her doctor and wished he would get out of her way. Instead, he stood there, scolding her rapidly in Hungarian. Root couldn’t understand him, having only learned a few phrases to help her in her search for Jason when she had first arrived in Budapest. The Machine didn’t translate for her either and eventually the doctor must have seen the blank look on Root’s face because he stopped talking to so fast and began speaking in slow, stilted English.

Not listening, Root tried to move past him and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.

“Please,” he said in heavily accented English. “You need more tests.”

“No,” said Root. She felt like punching him but didn’t want to be delayed any further by having the police on her tail.

Root had never liked hospitals or doctors. They were a frequent occurrence during her childhood for one reason or another. It was the pitying looks more than anything that she had hated as she lied about a black eye or broken arm, why her mother’s wrist was slashed and bleeding. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever believed her, but then her mother would regain consciousness and verify her story and that would be that. No one in Bishop ever looked into things any further. Everyone kept to themselves, minded their own business.

Sam had preferred it that way and always savoured the way her mother would gratefully brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, tell her she did good and _promised_ , for thehundredth time, that it wouldn’t happen again. She would take her pills when she was supposed to. She would stop drinking.

And Sam believed her. Every single time.

There was pity in this doctor’s eyes too, but this time it wasn’t because she was a kid growing up too fast with a mother who really wasn’t able to take care of her. This time the pity was all for Root and she hated it.

She didn’t know what the Hungarian for self-discharge was but she made to push past him once again and that seemed to get her point across, as he didn’t try to stop her, just gestured for her to follow him out into the hallway.

He led her to a nurse’s station and began rummaging around for some forms. Root felt her impatience growing and felt like just skipping out whilst he was distracted. Three days was a long time and she assumed the Machine must have organised a new alias for her and paid her hospital bills. She must have also dealt with the police after the blast, somehow keeping Root off their radar so they wouldn’t question her.

A few minutes later, the doctor pushed a form across the counter towards her and handed her a pen. He spoke to her in a mixture of Hungarian and English. Root got the gist of it. She was going against medical advice blah blah blah.

Root signed hastily where the doctor pointed. Her head was thumping rhythmically now, making it difficult for her to see straight, but she managed to squiggle something onto the form before handing the pen back.

She thought that was it, but the doctor handed her something else; a prescription slip. Root took it without thinking, glancing down at it blankly, taking in the foreign words and the name of a familiar drug before crushing it tightly in her hand.

It wasn’t until she was walking through automatic doors, blinded by the high sun, that she realised what signature she had just signed.

_Samantha Groves._

Root felt sick and forced herself to keep walking, dropping the prescription slip out of her hand and not looking as it fell to the ground. She wasn’t sure where she was going. The Machine was silent, no doubt in response to Root defying Her wishes once again.

The only thing Root knew was that she had a lot of work to do. Jason had three days on her, but she would find him.

One day, Root would catch up with him.

And she was going to kill him when she did.

 

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Location…Grand Central Station, New York…_

_//Local time… 21:16…_

Jason’s contacts had come through, setting up a meeting for the following evening with their supposed seller. Shaw and Daniel spent their time scoping the place out, assessing all the entrances and possible exits. Shaw wasn’t about to let what happened in Tehran happen again and this time Daniel set up a few of his own cameras as well as gaining access to the hotel’s own security system.

They were prepared for anything, so it didn’t really come as a surprise to Shaw when their contact suddenly changed the location thirty minutes before the meeting.

It was frustrating but at least they had the home ground advantage.

“Crowded,” said Reese through her earpiece.

Shaw grunted and glanced to her left across the vast expanse of Grand Central Station. He was hovering by a newsstand, pretending to flick through a magazine. There was a large black duffel bag at his feet. Their “money” for the exchange. Reese was playing the role of the buyer, but he looked less like a terrorist and more like a fed with his crisp suit.

“I think that’s the point,” Shaw muttered darkly. They didn’t even have a visual on who they were supposed to be meeting. It could be any one of a hundred faces passing them by.

“Anyone else feel like they’re walking into a trap?” said Daniel, who was safely ensconced in a nearby coffee shop on his laptop, watching security feeds.

“Can always count on you bring the pessimism to the table,” said Reese.

Shaw smirked, moving further through the crowd, her eyes darting back and forth. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for.

“I’m just being practical,” said Daniel absently. “Remember who we are dealing with.”

There was still a chance Jason was playing them, that there was no seller and they were simply wasting their time by being here at all. Except… both Harold and Daniel had verified what Jason had done on that computer. The meeting seemed legitimate, the contact just as shady and unreliable as Jason himself. Shaw was inclined to trust both Harold and Daniel’s judgement on this, even if it was with some unease.

“Still no sign of anyone who may be carrying the codes,” said Daniel. “What do nuclear warhead codes look like anyway?” he added, as if surprised that the thought had never occurred to him before.

“Briefcase,” said Reese. “Silver metal.”

“Oh, okay,” said Daniel.

“No,” said Reese. Something in the change of tone in his voice caused Shaw to glance over to him. He had dropped the magazine and picked up the duffel bag by his feet, swinging it over his shoulder. “By the announcements board.”

Shaw looked where he had indicated, spotting a man standing underneath the board, clutching a metal briefcase in his hand as he checked his watch.

“You think that’s our seller?” asked Shaw, her eyes narrowing as she circled round to come at him from behind.

“Maybe,” said Reese, closing the distance between them rapidly. He stopped just as suddenly and Shaw glanced towards the man once again. He wasn’t alone now. A woman had joined him, possibly his wife or girlfriend. “False alarm,” said Reese, casually walking towards the announcement board now and pretending to take a look.

“Wait,” said Daniel, “I might have something.”

Shaw was about to ask what, but something else caught her attention. The phone in her pocket vibrating loudly. She pulled it out in annoyance, frowning at the display.

_Go back to the library._

A chill crept up Shaw’s spine. She glanced at Reese, but he didn’t look like he had a similar message, still staring at the announcement board as he talked to Daniel.

There was only one person that could have sent that message and Shaw knew it must be important, but so was this. They couldn’t let the codes fall into the wrong hands and Shaw wasn’t about to let the seller get away from her once again.

The phone vibrated again.

_Go. Now._

Shaw stared at it. If something was wrong, then surely Harold would have been in touch?

Unless he couldn’t.

Unless he was incapacitated somehow. Shaw didn’t like the list of possibilities of what could have rendered Harold incapable of contacting them.

Blinking, it took Shaw a moment to realise her phone had gone dead and she glanced up, eyes finding Reese just as static filled her earpiece.

The seller was here.

They still didn’t know who they were looking for, but as Shaw darted her eyes between the faces in the crowd, a dull throb filled her gut that wouldn’t let up.

_Go back to the library._

For all she knew it could be a trick. Whoever was behind this had already proven how well they could interfere with their communications. Shaw had no way of knowing if the Machine had really sent that message. It could be nothing more than a means to lure Shaw away.

The throbbing intensified though, despite her reasoning and she couldn’t escape the thought of Harold in trouble.

But it wasn’t just Harold at the library.

 _She_ had wanted to come to the exchange with them, but Shaw had refused, insisting on taking Daniel and Reese only. No one had questioned her on it, not even Harold and, in the end, Root hadn’t pushed the issue either. So she had stayed behind with Harold, keeping an eye on Greenfield and awaiting news from them as to how their mission with the codes had gone.

Now, whatever was going on, Root was involved too.

And something _was_ wrong, Shaw was sure of it. Harold hadn’t checked in since they had got here and if Shaw knew Harold – and she did know him pretty well by now – then that was unusual for him.

People swarmed around Shaw. She couldn’t concentrate on their faces as they passed. Any one of them could be who they were looking for, but all Shaw could think about was the library.

She had lost sight of Reese some time ago, but she knew he wouldn’t hesitate in going after Harold if he thought he was in trouble.

Except it wasn’t thoughts of Harold in danger that filled her head.

Without thinking about what she was really doing, Shaw was pushing her way through the crowd and out towards the street.

“Shaw?” Reese called behind her. She hadn’t even realised she had passed him and she stopped in her tracks, turning to face him and his questioning look.

“I have to go,” said Shaw, walking away from him once again. Her heart was thumping so loud in her chest, the blood rushing through her ears that she barely heard what he said next.

It didn’t matter anyway. She could only focus on one thing. And that was reaching the library as soon as possible.

 

_//Locating Analogue Interface…_

_//Asset found…_

_//Local time… 21:32…_

It was becoming more and more difficult for Root to come up with excuses to stay. And not to give to the others, just excuses for herself. She wasn’t about to leave Jason breathing, but beyond that… Root really had no reason to be here.

They hadn’t even accepted her offer to help with the exchange. Well… _Shaw_ hadn’t, but the others hadn’t fought her on it either. Not even Harold, who was starting to look at Root with something like pity in his eyes every time a harsh word or icy look passed between her and Shaw. Root hated it and yet she couldn’t help but feel like he was the only one still on her side, even if he never would say it outright. He was cautious of her still, but he understood, perhaps better than anyone, that need to protect the people that you love.

Maybe the others didn’t trust her enough to have their backs if things went wrong, but they still trusted her enough to leave her alone with Harold in the library. There was nothing either of them could do but wait for news from Shaw and the others.

Root wasn’t sure what she was expecting. The change in location at the last second unnerved her, but wasn’t surprising. It was exactly what she would have done in similar circumstances and, in fact, what she _had_ done, so long ago now, in her old life.

She was restless and impatient; pacing back and forth in front of Harold’s desk, wringing her hands together. The Machine was silent – nothing new there – but Root thought She would let them know if Shaw and the others were in danger. Or at least Root hoped so. Not that there was much Root, or Harold, could do about it from the library.

“I know the décor isn’t exactly post-modern chic,” Harold commented, his voice breaking through the fog of Root’s thoughts, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean I appreciate you wearing a hole in the carpet.”

Root paused mid-step, smiling at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No news is good news,” Harold reminded her.

Root nodded, but wasn’t sure she believed him. Everything was so uncertain. They had no idea what they were up against, what kind of trap Shaw and the other two were walking in to. Without realising it, Root had started pacing again and only stopped when Harold appeared in front of her, holding out a dog leash.

“Perhaps you could put some of that nervous energy to good use,” he suggested.

Root glanced down at the leash, then over to Bear who was sitting quite happily on his bed, chewing an old bone.

Of course, the dog had been the only one out of her old team to give her a warm welcome and any signs of affection when she had first returned. She could still remember clearly John’s harsh scowl when he returned from securing Jason in the cage and Harold’s frown when Bear had bounded towards her, licking her face happily.

It was only with minor reluctance that Root took the leash. She could do with some air and to spend some time away from this place that still felt like a prison.

“Will you be okay?” Root asked.

Harold smiled at her, almost knowingly. Or perhaps it was with some condescension. “Everything is under control, Ms. Groves.” Which Root translated as, _you aren’t needed here._ Not now. Perhaps not ever.

Bear seemed eager to go for a walk and didn’t fidget as Root attached the leash to his collar and led him outside. She could feel Harold watching her and wondered what he was thinking; if he was genuinely trying to calm her down or if he just wanted rid of her.

It was cold outside and Root shivered slightly in the breeze, listening to the rustling of the leaves on the trees. She would take Bear once around the block, she decided, before coming back. Maybe then they would have heard from Shaw.

Root couldn’t remember the last time she had went for a walk just for the sake of it. It was most certainly before Daizo. Root shivered again and this time not because of any breeze. That was her life now, split into two parts. Before and after Daizo. But even that wasn’t really true. There was her life before Hanna, her life before and after the Machine. Her life, her _world_ , was boxed into neat little categories, surrounded by the chaos of humanity.

A dog barked in the distance, making Bear’s ears stand on end. Root braced herself for him to go running off, but he stayed where he was, waiting for Root’s command, and she tugged on the leash to get him moving again.

It was almost calming in a way, to have Bear walking along contently beside her. She knew it couldn’t last though. It never did. Not with Root. Everything in her life that had been good was always taken away from her. She had come to expect it, to believe that she deserved it.

It was with that thought that Root rounded the corner, coming to the end of her walk around the block. The library was ahead of her and Bear, seeing the familiar surroundings, ran eagerly towards it.

Root was glad to get out of the cold. She brushed the hair out of her eyes once they were inside, feeling how cold her fingers were against the skin on her cheeks.

“Rustig,” Root commanded softly when Bear began to bark loudly. She unhooked the leash from his collar, bending down to stroke behind his ears. Even that didn’t soothe him and he continued to bark almost wildly in the direction of the stairs. Root frowned, wondering what could have gotten him so riled up. It wasn’t like Bear to create a fuss over nothing.

A chill crept up Root’s spine and she told Bear to be quiet more firmly this time. Something felt wrong and Root’s mind immediately had one concern.

_Where was Jason?_

Root wasn’t armed. In fact, Bear was probably her best weapon, but Root reattached the leash quickly and tied him up, hoping to keep him out of harm’s way. Then she took the stairs, two at a time, out of breath and sweating by the time she made it to Harold’s office.

All was still and quiet.

“Harold?” Root called, realising that she was probably overreacting. That Bear could have been barking for any number of reasons. But… there was no sign of Harold. Root felt that chill again, that undeniable feeling like she was being watched. She moved towards Harold’s desk. One of the monitors was still focused on the cage and it took a few moments for Root to register what she was seeing.

The cage door open. Harold lying unconscious on the floor.

And no sign of Jason.

Standing frozen for a moment, Root wasn’t sure what to do. She couldn’t tell from the security feed if Harold was still breathing and her first instincts were to get to him. But she couldn’t be sure if Jason was still in the library. Running at the first opportunity for escape would be the logical thing to do, but this was _Jason_ and Root learned a long time ago never to make assumptions when it came to him.

That left her with only one conclusion. That Jason was between her and Harold. He was unlikely to be armed and that gave Root one advantage.

It was lucky that the Big Lug was so predictable in his habits and Root quickly walked over to where Reese stashed his spare weapons. The drawer wouldn’t open. Root thought it must be locked until she tugged on it again, harder, hearing wood scrape against wood. Just stiff, and soon Root had it open far enough to fit her hand inside.

Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the gun at the same time as she heard the floor creak behind her.

Root reached for the gun, grasping it hastily in her fingers. Her hands were like jelly, trembling with the rush of adrenaline. She felt Jason move closer behind her, could smell the stench of stale sweat coming from him. He moved quicker than her, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her away from the cabinet. The roughness of it sent the gun flying out of her hand and before Root could get a look at where it had landed, Jason shoved her roughly up against the wall.

Root gasped, the air leaving her lungs, choking her. Jason’s eyes were feral and wide, almost manic in the way that he stared at her.

“Where’s Harold?” Root asked. Her fear for him only grew stronger the more she looked into Jason’s eyes.

Jason laughed. “You still care?” he scoffed. “They don’t give a damn about you.”

“If you’ve –”

“If I’ve what?” Jason said, his tone full of condescension. “What are you going to do, Root?”

Root said nothing, her eyes darting to the floor, but she couldn’t see the gun.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Jason continued. “You’re weak…pathetic. And the only reason you found me,” he pressed Root harder into the wall and she could feel the cold brick dig into her back, could feel Jason’s hot breath on her skin, “was because _I_ let you.”

Root swallowed, fear thick in her throat. “Jason,” Root said and hated how much it sounded like she was begging.

“You all think I’m the bad guy,” Jason said. “I’m just doing a job. Like you used to do.”

“A job?” said Root in disbelief. “Is that what Daizo was? A job.”

Something dark entered Jason’s eyes. “Daizo was a stupid kid who shouldn’t have gotten in the way.”

Root closed her eyes. Wished she hadn’t when she saw the blood again and Daizo’s pale, empty gaze.

“If it was anyone’s fault,” said Jason, “it was yours. You just couldn’t let it go. Just had to keep on pushing.”

Try as hard as she could, Root couldn’t stop herself from replaying that night over in her head. It was so vivid now, haunting her dreams at night. And when she was awake, it seemed to follow her then too. If she wasn’t careful.

Daizo stepping in front of her and Root powerless to do anything about it as the bullet ripped into his chest.

“You’re right, Jason,” said Root shakily. “It was my fault. I never should have trusted you.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but Jason laughing coldly in her face wasn’t it. She didn’t know what he found so amusing or what sort of game he was playing. Why didn’t he just kill her and get it over with? Why couldn’t he just end this and finally let Root succumb to the darkness that she so desperately wanted? There was nothing left for her here. Better to end it all now rather than drag it out endlessly.

“What do you want, Jason?” Root asked and it scared her just how empty her voice sounded, like her mind and herself had all but given up and only her treacherous body remained. The last thing standing between her and death. “Why don’t you just kill me?” It was intended as a plea, but it came out with more confidence than Root thought she had left; mocking him and his inability to get his hands dirty.

The jab hit Jason like a knife and he retaliated by pressing his lips forcefully against hers. Nausea filled Root’s throat and she tried to push him away, found him far stronger than her. It didn’t stop her from struggling, didn’t stop the panic from filling her up inside.

Arms locked at her sides where Jason held her, her legs were the only thing that Root could move. Root lifted her knee up, but Jason must have felt her shift and he pulled away from her only to slam her head back violently into the wall.

There was a loud thump. Dazed, it took Root a moment to realise what had happened. Pain radiated out from the back of her head, throbbing all the way down to her neck. Her lip stung and, tasting blood, she realised she must have bit down on it.

She felt weak and tired and offered no resistance when Jason’s hands moved to her belt buckle. This was worse than death and Root couldn’t find it in her to make him stop. All the fight had left her some time ago. Perhaps that very night itself, when everything had changed.

“I’m going to make you scream for me, Root,” Jason muttered into her ear.

“Fuck you,” Root growled. It earned her a hard slap across the face. The sting of it felt good and it only proved how much of a coward Jason was. She knew then that when this was all over, he wouldn’t kill her. He didn’t have the guts. He would leave her empty and broken, too scared to do what Root so desperately wanted to do to him.

She wanted to scream at him. To taunt him and make him angry. Maybe if she could make him angry enough, he would lash out and end this. But any words that Root could have said only got lodged in her throat and she stayed silent, wincing as one of Jason’s hands palmed at her breast through her shirt, his other hand still clumsily trying to undo her belt.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched Root and this wasn’t exactly what she had been expecting for the next time. She felt more sick the longer Jason continued to touch her and she wished he would just hurry up and get it over with.

All the strength went out of her, Jason’s hold on her the only thing still keeping her standing. Root closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was somewhere else, anywhere else, but all she saw was Daizo lying broken and bloody and dead because of her.

_It was my fault._

She tried not to breathe either. Every inhale brought in his scent, something she thought would linger in her nose forever, even long after Jason was gone.

But just when Root thought she could contain the nausea no longer, the smell was gone and she heard Jason grunt and a dull thud like something had fallen to the ground.

It was a while before Root realised the noise had been her, that she had sunk to her knees now that Jason was no longer holding her up.

“Touch her again,” hissed a cold and familiar voice, full of so much rage that even Root was afraid of it for a moment, “and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes.”

Root opened her eyes to watch as Shaw pulled Jason to his feet. He was clutching the side of his head where a nasty gash had formed, steadily leaking blood. But it was the look in Shaw’s eyes that caught Root’s attention. A potent rage, so hot that Root was surprised that Jason was even still breathing.

Closing her eyes again, Root tried to steady her breathing that had become erratic in the fight to get air into her lungs. She was unaware that she had been crying until she felt wetness on her cheeks and she quickly brushed the tears away with trembling fingers. Root had no idea how long she sat there, unmoving, and she only lifted her head up when she heard movement from her left.

She tried not to flinch when Shaw stalked towards her. The rage was gone, dulled down to that same anger that had been there ever since Root had come back. There was something else there too, in the way that Shaw looked at her. Something that Root didn’t dare dwell on or try to decipher.

“Did he…” Shaw began, swallowing thickly and looking past Root as she knelt down in front of her.

Root shook her head. She had to wipe at her eyes again and hated herself for being so weak. Hated that Shaw could see her like this, that she had come to Root’s rescue.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Shaw asked, like she was angry at Root for letting things escalate in the way that they had.

 _I tried,_ Root thought. _I couldn’t._

But that wasn’t necessarily true. Part of her had wanted Jason to hurt her. To punish her for all the things that she had done.

Instead, she said, with more fear than she had felt for her own life, “Where’s Harold?”

The look Shaw gave her was hard to bear. She knew what Root had been thinking and Root wished she would get angry again, that it wasn’t pity that was seeping into Shaw’s eyes. Where was that indifference that Shaw was so good at? Why did it choose now to disappear?

“Harold’s fine,” said Shaw, sighing as she climbed to her feet. “He’s just coming.”

As if being summoned, Harold appeared behind Shaw. Relief filled Root at the sight of him as he limped towards them, holding a white cotton handkerchief, now stained red with blood, to his forehead. He glanced worriedly at Root, making her look away and down at her still trembling hands wrapped tightly around her knees.

“Ms. Groves?” said Harold. “Are you all right?”

Root remained silent. She didn’t want to listen to the empathy in his voice. Didn’t want to see the look of concern on his face.

“She’s fine,” Shaw answered for her, gesturing for Harold to take a seat so she could examine his head. Root watched her work. The intense look of concentration on Shaw’s face as she focused on cleaning Harold’s wound was calming in a way. Root liked that about Shaw. That she could both inflict wounds and make them better.

Except not all wounds. There were some wounds Root had, some they _both_ had, that could never be fixed.

“You want to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing?” Shaw asked.

“I though Mr Greenfield might be hungry,” said Harold reasonably. The shakiness to his voice betrayed any calm persona he was trying to project, however, and Root thought he might be just as shaken up by this as she was. “I didn’t think he would…”

He looked at Root and she knew he was thinking about her time locked up in the cage. Root had been compliant and patient, because the Machine had asked her to. Jason was neither.

“Get out of the cage?” Root finished for him.

“Evidently,” said Harold, looking away, “I was wrong.”

“Obviously,” said Shaw testily. She finished cleaning up his wound and slapped a band aid on his forehead, uncaring if it hurt him. “From now on,” Shaw ordered both of them, “no one goes near that cage without me or Reese here. We clear?”

Harold nodded meekly and rose to his feet, moving towards his desk. Shaw turned her gaze to Root, glaring until Root nodded in agreement as well.

“What happened with the exchange?” Harold asked.

Shaw was still staring at Root and Root didn’t like the look that crossed her face.

“You don’t know, do you?” Root said. Shaw had come to the library, come to their – _Root’s_ – rescue before the exchange could happen. “Shaw…” Root began, her voice cracking.

“This wasn’t about you,” Shaw said quickly, looking away from Root and back at Harold. “The Machine told me to come.”

Root didn’t believe her. The Machine may have told her to go back to the library, but she had only come, abandoning her team, because of _her._

Harold glanced between them both nervously before clearing his throat and sitting down behind his computers. “I’ll try to get a hold of Mr Reese.”

Root climbed to her feet. She wanted to help. This was her fault. If anything happened to Reese or Daniel…

All the blood rushed to Root’s head at once and she felt lightheaded and dizzy, her feet unsteady beneath her. A strong hand gripped her arm and it seemed to anchor Root, cleared a little of the fuzz away.

“Did you hit your head?” Shaw asked.

“I’m fine,” Root snapped and tugged her arm out of Shaw’s hold. She thought she might, _finally_ , be sick and made a hasty retreat to the bathroom before either Shaw or Harold could stop her.

She felt eyes on her all the way there.

*

“Ms. Shaw?”

The impatience in Harold’s voice snapped Shaw out of her thoughts and she darted her eyes from where they had been following Root to him. He looked tired and annoyed, but Shaw suspected most of it was directed at himself.

Her attention now on him, Harold repeated the question that Shaw thought he must have asked her several times already when she wasn’t listening. “Did something happen with your communications?”

Shaw nodded absently. She still couldn’t make herself focus on the conversation.

“They went out right after the Machine warned me to come back here.” That had been about half an hour ago now, and there was still no word from either Daniel or Reese.

Harold frowned. “That’s unusual. The warning, I mean,” he clarified, “and not a number.”

“Wasn’t the first time,” Shaw said, her eyes darting in the direction of the bathroom when she heard a noise from within.

“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,” Harold commented absently.

Shaw understood his concern. It used to be her concern too; but conversing with the Machine had become a regular thing recently.

Harold said something else and Shaw let his words wash over her. There was no point in worrying about the Machine when there was nothing they could do about it. Not yet anyway. But she had no doubt Harold would take drastic measures if he had to. If he thought his Machine had gone far beyond what he had initially intended for it to do. Shaw wasn’t sure where that would leave any of them. Where they could go and what they would do without the Machine.

Harold had his empire. He would survive and no doubt there would be any job of Daniel’s choosing, whatever and wherever he wanted. It was her and Reese that would be left without a purpose.

_And Root._

“Perhaps you should check on Ms. Groves,” Harold suggested. Shaw glared at him. “Make sure that head injury wasn’t anything serious.”

Shaw wanted to protest; to claim that she was better off here helping him get a hold of Reese and Daniel. But that was a lie. She couldn’t focus, her mind half on Root. And she hated herself for it.

Nodding slightly and keeping her face as neutral as possible, Shaw headed towards the small bathroom, finding Root leaning against the sink with both hands as she stared at her reflection in the small, cracked mirror. It distorted her face, like Shaw was look at ten different versions of Root and unsure of which one was hers.

Shaw swallowed thickly, unable to break eye contact with Root’s reflection and stared at Root’s dull and lifeless eyes, almost like she wasn’t really there at all.

“You should put some ice on that head wound,” Shaw said. Always easier to go into professional doctor mode. It gave her some distance that the small space between them wouldn’t allow.

“It’s fine,” Root said. Her voice still didn’t sound like her own and there was a hesitancy to that Shaw couldn’t quite pinpoint. Root turned around and now that they were face to face, no mirror to act as a barrier, the room became stifling.

Root’s lips, still cracked and bleeding, stood out starkly against her pale face. Without thinking, Shaw’s hand reached out to the wound, fingers brushing gently over the swollen lip. A gasp escaped Root’s mouth. Shaw couldn’t be sure if it was the sting of the cut or just the contact, flesh on flesh and more gentle than Shaw thought she was capable of.

“Still playing my dashing white knight?” Root said with forced lightness. It was intended to deflect, to get Shaw mad enough because anything was better than whatever pity or empathy Shaw was attempting.

It worked too.

Shaw knew exactly what she was doing and yet Root still got under her skin. She let go abruptly, taking as large a step back as possible in the small room, glaring as she did so.

A smirk played at Root’s lips, like she was enjoying herself. But Shaw knew the truth. What almost happened with Jason had shaken her. She was doing a pretty good job and hiding it, Shaw thought. That was something Root had always been good at. Hiding how she truly felt behind a flirtatious glance or a carefully crafted innuendo.

“Don’t,” Shaw said, wiping the smirk from Root’s face. She glanced away, her head drooping slightly. She could mask the shakiness to her voice, the lingering fear in her eyes, but she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling. Shaw watched as she clenched them into fists, so tight that Shaw was surprised her nails didn’t break the skin.

“I should have known he was playing us,” Root muttered eventually. Shaw wondered if she was thinking about the botched exchange, the silence from Daniel and Reese. Or maybe she was just thinking about Jason out of the cage and the way he had come after her, ruining his chance of escape.

Except Root had known not to trust him. And Shaw hadn’t listened.

“None of us knew,” said Shaw. “We didn’t have any choice.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Root asked.

“I don’t care about making you feel better,” Shaw snapped, feeling anger swell up inside of her again.

“Right,” said Root quietly, glancing down at her feet. She looked so pathetic that Shaw wished she would attempt another innuendo… something, _anything._ _That_ version of Root she knew how to handle.

“I’m going to see if Finch has something,” Shaw muttered, reaching for the door handle. The sound of her name made her pause and she glanced at Root warily over her shoulder.

Root looked at her nervously. “Thank you,” she said.

Shaw didn’t know what to say to that so she said nothing at all. She kept thinking about Reese and Daniel, how she had left them in the middle of a mission without really knowing why, only knowing that Root might be in danger.

“Wait,” Root said when Shaw reached for the door again.

“What?” said Shaw tersely.

“I –” Root began. “When this is over… you don’t have to worry about me sticking around. I’ll be leaving.”

“Good,” said Shaw automatically, despite the throbbing in her chest at the sound of those words.

She left quickly, before either of them could do or say anything that Shaw would, no doubt, come to regret.

Harold was pacing the office when Shaw returned.

“You got something?” Shaw asked hurriedly.

“Mr Reese and Mr Casey are both fine,” said Harold.

“There was no sign of the seller,” said Reese over the comm line. “Not from what I could see. But Daniel thinks he might have found something.”

“I’m sending you a picture,” Daniel said.

Harold moved over to his computer and began typing. He brought up the image Daniel sent and Shaw frowned at it. The picture was taken in Grand Central Station, a crowd of people waiting on the platform.

“What are we supposed to be looking at, Mr Casey?” Harold asked.

But Shaw didn’t need to ask to know what it was that had Daniel so concerned. She recognised one of the women in the photograph. Tall brunette, professionally dressed.

“Recognise her?” Daniel asked.

Shaw heard movement behind her and glanced over her shoulder to watch as Root emerged from the bathroom. She looked more composed than she did five minutes ago and Shaw wondered if the Machine had prompted her out or if it was her own curiosity.

“Yeah,” said Shaw, turning her attention back to the monitors. “The woman in Syria.”

“The woman who hit on you,” Daniel clarified and Shaw rolled her eyes.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Shaw said, ignoring him. She remembered sipping her drink in the hotel bar after her encounter with Control, wanting to be left alone to drown her thoughts away in alcohol. The woman had been attractive and Shaw had almost been tempted to take her up on her offer. But something had stopped her. Or, rather, _someone._

It seemed ridiculous now. Root hadn’t even been back in her life then and yet Shaw was still holding onto something that she wasn’t sure she even understood.

“Definitely not a coincidence,” Daniel agreed. “We’re tailing her now.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Shaw said, glad that they finally had a lead, that there was something she could do. She turned to leave, almost walking into Root as she stood behind Shaw, staring at her curiously.

“Stay away from the cage,” Shaw ordered as she left, unsure of who, exactly, she was speaking to.


	9. Part 1: Chapter 9

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Local time… 22:37…_

“Where’s Reese?” Shaw asked, getting into the car. Daniel was behind the wheel, eyes on the upper class bar across the street.

“He decided to go back to the library,” said Daniel. “Something about wanting to check on things.”

Shaw said nothing, wondering if Finch had told Reese about Jason getting out of the cage or if John had worked it out for himself. After all, Shaw didn’t make a habit of abandoning missions, of abandoning her team. She fully expected them both to be pissed. They had every right to be and she knew _she_ would, if their roles had been reversed.

“She inside?” Shaw asked.

“Yeah,” said Daniel. “Went in about ten minutes ago.”

“Did you bluejack her phone?”

“Not exactly,” said Daniel hesitantly, in that way he did whenever he thought he had failed. Daniel did not take failure well and Shaw was in no mood to humour him.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Shaw asked testily.

Daniel sighed. “No,” he said. “If she’s the one interfering with our communications, then it’s hardly surprising.”

He had a point, but Shaw still didn’t like it. “We need to know who she is. What she is involved with. What?” she added at the look Daniel gave her.

“She liked you,” Daniel said, a grin forming on his face.

“No,” said Shaw firmly.

“Come on, Shaw,” said Daniel encouragingly. “Take one for the team.”

Shaw tried hard to think of something – _anything_ – other than that, but her mind drew a blank. They didn’t have a lot of options and, she was certain, a lot of time either.

“What am I supposed to say?” Shaw asked.

“I don’t know,” said Daniel. “Flirting with women isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

Narrowing her eyes, Shaw turned away from him to stare at the bar. He was still getting back at her for his “date” with Anton it would seem.

Except… this _was_ for the mission. She could blend her way in and flaunt her charm with the best of them when she had to. And now it would seem that she did have to.

“Fine,” she said eventually and got out of the car. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?” she muttered to herself, her look darkening as she heard Daniel chuckle over the earpiece. She ignored him and stepped inside the bar.

Annoyed by the number of people, Shaw pushed her way to the bar, scanning the crowd for the woman as she went. She couldn’t spot her right away and decided to order herself a scotch. All the more easy to blend in with a drink in her hand. Turning around to face the crowd, Shaw leant against the bar casually like she was there every night to ease the tension after a long day at work.

“Anything?” Daniel asked.

“Not yet,” Shaw muttered. “Place is pretty crowded.”

“Well, maybe you should…”

“What?” Shaw asked.

“Mingle a little?” said Daniel. Shaw could hear the smile in his voice. He was enjoying himself at her expense, the bastard.

“Mingling it is,” Shaw muttered and moved through the crowd. It was full of straight-laced men in expensive suits. The Wall Street or lawyer types. Most of the women were dressed professionally too. Shaw was almost out of place in her black pants and black leather jacket, but it didn’t look like anyone was batting her an eyelid. She was beginning to think that Daniel had got it wrong, that their woman had ducked out without them noticing. Then she spotted a flash of dark brown hair and familiar, attractive features.

The woman looked like she was alone, standing by a high table, nursing a drink. Currently busy typing away on her phone; the light from the screen gave her face a ghostly pale complexion. Still attractive though, Shaw thought absently, eyes appraising the woman up and down. She hadn’t seen Shaw yet and she knew she had to be careful, not spook her away or give any indication that Shaw was here intentionally to meet her.

Timing would be everything.

Shaw waited until the women lifted her drink before moving closer. She controlled her step, thankful that the bar was busy tonight. It was good cover for “bumping” into someone. Shaw hit her shoulder forcefully with the woman’s, spilling both their drinks. Scotch spilt onto Shaw’s hand, leaving it sticky as it dripped down to the floor. It was a waste of good scotch, but if the mission warranted it… she couldn’t really complain.

“I’m so sorry,” Shaw said, forcing her voice to sound apologetic. She made a show of attempting to dab the woman’s hands dry with a napkin, before giving up and dumping the sodden thing on the table. “Let me buy you another drink.”

Shaw still hadn’t made eye contact yet and it was easy to pull her face into a mask of surprised recognition. “Hey, do I know you?”

“Smooth, Shaw,” Daniel muttered. Shaw ignored him.

The woman’s face changed rapidly from mild annoyance to a confused frown. “The Park Hotel in Syria,” the woman said, smiling brightly. “You refused to have a drink with me.”

Refused wasn’t the word Shaw would have used. Reluctant, maybe.

“Looks like you can’t refuse now,” the woman continued.

Shaw forced herself to smile. “I guess not.”

Something about the woman’s smirk was enticingly familiar. It hooked Shaw in and left her tingling, not unpleasantly, from head to toe.

“What are you drinking?” Shaw asked, forcing a smile onto her face. It felt false and uncomfortable, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care.

“Gin and tonic, thanks,” she replied. “I’m Helena, by the way,” she added, extending her hand. Shaw took it, gripped it tight.

“Uh, I’m Sam,” she replied quickly. The warmth of human contact was slightly unnerving and she moved towards the bar quickly before the woman – Helena – noticed the reaction it provoked.

It was difficult to keep eyes on her through the crowd and by the time Shaw returned to the table, she was surprised to find Helena still there, waiting patiently with a small smile.

“One gin and tonic,” Shaw said, handing the glass over. She sipped at her own drink, watching Helena over brim of the glass as she took a mouthful. Condensation dripped from the sides of Helena’s glass, pooling at the bottom before gravity forced them to the floor. She coughed slightly and raised an eyebrow at Shaw.

“Is this a double?”

Shaw shrugged. “I only drink doubles.” She took another swallow of her scotch, further emphasising her point.

Helena smirked at her and Shaw kept their eyes locked, almost challenging her. It didn’t faze Helena, who swallowed down almost a quarter of her drink. A genuine smile played across Shaw’s face. It was nice to finally meet someone who could handle their drink as well as Shaw could.

“So, Sam, who only drinks doubles,” Helena began, placing her drink on the table. “Is that short for something?”

“Sameen,” Shaw said carefully, reminding herself that this person could be working with Jason, could be dangerous.

“Sameen,” said Helena. It didn’t sound right coming out of her mouth and Shaw wished she had never told her it. “That’s a lovely name. You should use it more often.”

Shrugging, Shaw was unsure how to react to that. None of this was what she had been expecting. For someone who may be in possession of nuclear warhead codes, she was calm and casual. Arrogant, even.

Unless… maybe they had gotten this wrong. Maybe Helena being both in Syria and Grand Central Station _was_ just a coincidence and they were wasting their time. If they were… then Shaw was having drinks with someone who she found more than a little attractive. If she were being honest with herself, she was intrigued by this woman. It had been a long time since Shaw had felt like that.

Not since Root.

Shaw swallowed down the rest of her drink and offered to buy Helena another. Suspect or not, Shaw wanted to forget about Root, about what had almost happened in the library. She was tired of it, of these… _feelings_ that swam inside of her every time she thought about her.

She wanted it to end and this seemed like the perfect distraction.

*

Daniel jumped when Root got into the passenger seat. She thought he looked out of place on a stakeout, playing the role of back-up as needed. Guns were always something that made Daniel nervous. Now he seemed to be carrying one on him at all times with ease.

“What are you doing here?” Daniel asked.

“Just seeing where all the cool kids hang out,” said Root breezily. She directed her gaze to the bar where she knew Shaw must be.

“Did the Machine send you?” Daniel asked. Root could feel him staring at her curiously, making her want to fidget under the scrutiny.

“Not exactly,” Root muttered. Truth was, she couldn’t stand the thought of staying in the library any longer, pretending not to notice the worried looks Harold kept giving her. Then Reese had appeared, removing any and all guilt Root would have had if she had left Harold alone with Jason.

“What happened to…?” Daniel gestured at her mouth.

Root’s tongue darted out automatically, licking her swollen and still stinging lip. “Jason got out of the cage,” she said quietly. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel him pressed up against her, could still smell him. Root opened her eyes and found her hands shaking in her lap. She clenched them tightly and turned her gaze onto Daniel.

“ _What?_ ” said Daniel, sitting up straighter in his anger. Shaw obviously hadn’t shared that minor detail with him.

“No one was hurt.”

“Are you sure about that?” Daniel asked. Concern shined in his eyes. Root found she couldn’t look at it and turned away.

“Is she in there?” Root asked, nodding towards the bar.

“Maybe you shouldn’t…” said Daniel, but Root had already patched herself through to listen into Shaw’s conversation.

“You seem different,” said a voice Root didn’t recognise. The accent was British, elegant. Root guessed it must be the woman from Grand Central Station. The woman who had apparently been in Syria. The woman who had supposedly hit on Shaw. Root couldn’t stop herself from imaging Shaw’s response, if Shaw had taken up her offer and where it might have led. Fire burned inside of Root. A jealousy she no longer had any right to feel.

“Different how?” Shaw asked. Root could tell by the tone of her voice that Shaw had a scowl on her face.

“I don’t know…” said the British woman. “In Aleppo you were determined to drink alone.”

Root felt a pang of relief at that. Not that it mattered. Just because Shaw hadn’t in Syria, didn’t mean she hadn’t elsewhere with someone else. Root glanced at Daniel then, recalling what Jason had insinuated about him and Shaw. The rational, logical side of her knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help the resentment that threatened to overwhelm her every time she thought about how close they had become since she had left. Somehow, despite everything, despite their differences, despite Daniel being torn and broken and Shaw having little patience for, well, _anyone_ , they had found each other. Learned to work together and work well.

Meanwhile, Root had no one. She didn’t even really have Jason; the reward at the end of her year long quest.

“Now,” the woman continued, “not so much _._ ”

There was silence for a moment, just the usual sounds of a busy bar in the background; the clinking of drinks, people talking.

“What’s changed?”

“Nothing,” said Shaw. Maybe a little too quickly, Root thought. She felt her chest tightening unexpectedly and had to remind herself to breathe. Deep breaths, in and out. “I owed you a drink. Nothing more _._ ”

“And now we’re on our second,” the woman said with a hint of arrogance that made Root hate her.

“Careful, Shaw,” Daniel warned. “We can’t spook her.”

“It’s just a drink,” Shaw said.

“Maybe,” said the woman. Root could hear the promise in her voice, the open invitation for something more. It was the kind of tone Root herself would have used, once upon a time, when things were different. When Shaw didn’t look at her with that anger and betrayal like she wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in Root and leave her for dead. “But I think it’s more than that,” she continued.

“Oh, really _?_ ” said Shaw. She was feigning disinterest, but Root could hear the intrigue in her voice and wondered if the woman could too.

“In Syria,” the woman said, “it seemed like you were moping _._ ”

“I don’t mope,” said Shaw, sounding affronted. Root smiled.

“Okay, maybe not moping,” she said quickly, appeasing. “But something held you back. Or… someone?”

There was silence again. So long that Root found herself holding her breath. It felt suddenly too hot in the car, too confining. She could feel Daniel watching her and tried to ignore him, concentrated on watching the front of the bar as if she expected Shaw and their mystery woman to suddenly walk out through the front door.

“There was _…_ ” Shaw began hesitantly, “someone. Before,” she added. Her voice was all clumsy, so unlike Shaw that Root could almost pretend she was listening to someone else. “Before Syria. A long time ago _._ ”

“What’s changed?” the woman asked. Root hated the sympathy in her voice. Hated it just as Shaw would, but Shaw carried on talking, her voice quiet and distant, no frustration or anger to it like there normally was.

“She came back _._ ”

“I see,” said the woman knowingly. But what the hell did she know about Shaw? About _them_? “And you thought you had gotten over her?”

“Yes,” Shaw said shakily.

Throat constricting, eyes pricking unpleasantly, Root quickly cut the connection. She didn’t want to listen anymore. Didn’t want to hear the sound of Shaw’s voice, so far away and lost. So unlike her.

It was for the mission, Root told herself. _It’s all for the mission._ Root breathed deeply, felt a little calmer.

“You know,” said Daniel, shattering all of Root’s illusions. She flinched, forgetting he was there and turned her head to find him watching her carefully. “She hasn’t been the same since you left.”

Root didn’t think that was true. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe it.

“You broke her heart, Root,” said Daniel.

It felt like Root’s own heart was breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces, irreparable and lost forever.

“Shaw doesn’t have a heart, Daniel,” said Root distantly. Shaw didn’t feel like the rest of them. She was free of this burden that Root herself wished so much would leave her be.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” said Daniel.

Root turned away, trying to swallow through what felt like a rock in her throat. This wasn’t what she had wanted. She thought Shaw would understand. The anger was to be expected, Root had tased her after all, left her lying in bed, naked, in the middle of the night. It was welcomed even, at times, the anger. But _this_ … Root didn’t know how to deal with this. She could barely even listen to that sad and broken voice that so didn’t belong to Shaw. Yet there it was, unbidden. And all because of Root.

“I had to find him,” Root mumbled, unable to stop tears from trailing down her cheeks. It felt like they would never stop, that they would flood out of her forever. “Stop him.”

“I would have helped you,” said Daniel.

“I know,” said Root, facing him. “That’s why I couldn’t let you.” She couldn’t let what had happened to Daizo happen to him too. She couldn’t lose anyone else.

None of it mattered anymore. She had made her choice a long time ago. She had paid the price – was still paying it – and there was only herself to blame.

*

“You seem different,” said Helena. She swirled the ice in her glass around with a straw, creating a churning tornado that caught the slice of lemon, spinning it around and around. Shaw frowned, her eyes focused on the movement until Helena’s hand stilled and it began to settle within her glass; the timid quiet after a storm.

“Different how?” Shaw asked.

“I don’t know,” said Helena. It was with a slight upturn of the lips that told Shaw she knew exactly what she meant. “In Aleppo you were determined to drink alone.”

That was true. Shaw had been. She wasn’t interested, back then (only a mere few days ago, she had to remind herself) in where that drink was sure to lead.

“Now,” Helena continued, grinning like she knew what Shaw had been thinking, “not so much.”

In Syria, Shaw had been brusque, eager to be left alone with her thoughts and her memories. Now she wanted nothing more than to be rid of them, if only for just a short time. She might be able to live with it a little better, at least.

“What’s changed?” Helena asked, leaning closer to Shaw when a couple pushed against her as they walked past and through the packed bar. She didn’t move away again and neither did Shaw, who was never one to be in favour of close proximity unless it was to choke hold a guy.

“Nothing,” said Shaw quickly, swallowing down a mouthful of scotch to cover up her discomfort. The burn in her throat dulled her senses a bit. She was on a mission and she knew she should take it easy, but for once the Dutch courage was necessary. “I owed you a drink. Nothing more.”

The grin widened on Helena’s face; one eyebrow rising delicately. It was only then Shaw realised the implication behind her words. The assumption she had made about Helena’s intentions in Syria that night. Maybe there was nothing to it at all. Maybe she was just being played for a fool and this was all some trick, some elaborate ploy concocted by this woman, by Jason. To what end, Shaw didn’t know.

“And now we’re on our second,” said Helena confidently, like this was her plan to break down Shaw’s walls.

“Careful, Shaw,” Daniel warned in her ear. It was only years of training and practice that prevented Shaw from flinching. She had forgotten he was listening. Which was stupid of her. This wasn’t some date, some random woman she had picked up in a bar. She was on a mission. She had to focus. “We can’t spook her,” Daniel continued. Shaw appreciated the “we,” like he had any involvement in this whatsoever, safe out in the car. She heeded his warning anyway, choosing her next words carefully.

“It’s just a drink,” said Shaw. In so many ways it wasn’t though and Helena looked at her like she knew that too.

“Maybe,” she said. That tiny smirk that seemed to burrow its way into Shaw returned to Helena’s face. “But I think it’s more than that.”

“Oh, really?” said Shaw. She tried to sound disinterested, tried to look bored, but found her eyes locked with light brown ones, speckled with gold, like stars in a vast galaxy.

“In Syria,” said Helena, taking another sip of her drink, “it seemed like you were moping.”

Shaw scowled. “I don’t mope,” she said, half expecting Daniel to chime in with some comment about that being exactly what she had been doing.

“Okay, maybe not moping,” said Helena, “but something held you back.” A spark of comprehension filled her eyes then, like she had made some huge discovery. “Or… _someone_?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Shaw swallowed and looked away, eyes focused on a couple in a booth near the back. They were sitting close, the woman practically on the guy’s lap, their arms around each other. Their faces were dipped low so they could talk over the noise of the crowd. It was always something Shaw had either ignored or shown disdain for, these public displays of affection. It wasn’t something she was used to seeing or comfortable with. And although her parents had loved each other very much, they themselves had never been big on showing affection. Small gestures, here and there, that was what suited them. When she was younger, it had taken Sameen a long time to realise that’s what they were, those gestures.

The couple in the booth kissed and Shaw glanced away, wondering if she and Root had ever been that obvious. She didn’t think so, for the most part, but this couple seemed oblivious to their surroundings and she recalled how easy it used to be, to lose herself in Root’s touch.

“There was…” Shaw cleared her throat, “someone. Before,” she added. “Before Syria. A long time ago.” It felt longer than the mere year it had been. Shaw kept herself busy with work, number after number, but it never seemed to help.

“What’s changed?” Helena asked, a sympathetic lilt to her voice that, normally, Shaw would have hated. Now, she barely registered it, lost in her thoughts of long ago.

“She came back,” Shaw blurted, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them. They were out there now, lose and free to haunt her, much like Root herself was.

“I see,” said Helena. Shaw glanced at her, wished that she hadn’t when she saw the pity there. She took a drink, settled the glass back down on the table and watched as the dark brown liquid stuck to the sides, trickling down slowly.

“And you thought you had gotten over her?” Helena guessed.

“Yes,” said Shaw, the truth tumbling out of her, raw and burning her mouth as it passed. She wasn’t over Root. Shaw wasn’t sure she ever _could_ be. But it didn’t matter. Root was leaving when this was all over and Shaw was glad of it. She thought she could live with the emptiness that had been inside of her this past year. But not _this._ Never this; that feeling that burned hot as lava whenever she forgot herself and thought about Root. It consumed her almost, to a point where it was all that she was. It was a feeling she had never experienced before. Yet she knew what it was. And she couldn’t deny it to herself any longer. If she did, she knew that the fire would burn her carefully crafted walls until they were nothing but cinder and Shaw could not predict what would happen then.

But Root would be leaving, Shaw reminded herself, and with her departure, the fire would be doused, gone for ever.

Helena let out a heavy breath, like she was letting go of the emotional weight their conversation had unwittingly brought forth. “I don’t know about you, but I could certainly do with another drink.”

Shaw grunted, blinking furiously as she drained the last of her scotch. She slammed the glass down onto the table. Not enough force to break it, but enough to make a loud enough thump to be heard over the bustle of the bar. The alcohol did nothing to quench the fire. In fact, it only seemed to fuel it. Another drink was the last thing Shaw wanted, but she had a role to play here. She had to keep Helena talking, maybe get her drunk enough to loosen her tongue, get her boasting. Though she had an arrogance about her, Shaw did not think she would be careless enough to slip up. It was going to take time and a lot of gin to find out if Helena knew anything about the codes.

“Unfortunately,” Helena continued, “I have an early business meeting in the morning that I know better than to be hung over for.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this business meeting and wondering if it was to do with the missing codes.

“But how about a rain check?” Helena asked, gathering up her purse and rummaging through it.

“Sure,” said Shaw. “I’d like that.” She tried to force sincerity into her voice and was surprised to find how easy it was. Talking all night to this stranger _had_ been easy. Not once in the past year had she ever talked about Root. Daniel and John, hell even Finch at one point, had tried to talk to her about it. Shaw had shut down the conversation so fast it had almost given her whiplash.

“Great,” said Helena, finally finding what she had been searching for. “Here’s my business card. Call me.”

“I will,” Shaw promised, taking the card.

“It was nice talking to you, Sam,” said Helena.

“You too,” said Shaw, watching her weave her way through the throng.

In the noise of the busy bar, it was difficult for Shaw to hear Daniel through her earpiece and she waited a few moments before leaving the bar. Outside, the cool night air was a welcome relief to the warmness that had gathered inside from all the collected body heat. Shaw glanced up and down the street; Daniel was still parked where she had left him and there was no sign of Helena.

“She got into a cab,” said Daniel. “I jacked the driver’s phone if you want me to follow her?”

“What about hers?” Shaw asked, waiting for a car to pass before she crossed the street.

“Still nothing,” said Daniel. “We think she might be blocking it.”

“Who’s we?” Shaw asked even as she noticed the other figure sitting in the passenger seat. Her body tensed up and she couldn’t help but think about how much Root must have heard.

“We also still don’t know who she is,” Daniel continued.

Shaw remembered the business card still clutched tightly in her hand. She glanced at it as she crossed the street. The back of it was blank but for the handwritten cell number scrawled neatly on it in black ink. Shaw flipped the card over. On the front it was more professional. Neatly typed and a company logo in the corner.

“We do now,” said Shaw, still staring at the card. “Helena Greer, CEO of Decima Technologies.”


	10. Part 1: Chapter 10

As enticing as it was to follow and watch Helena Greer all night, Root gave it a miss and left it to Daniel and Shaw. Besides, she knew her presence was unwanted, once again, and she couldn’t help but feel like she had intruded on something private, definitely never meant for her ears. So she had left quickly, making up some excuse about Harold needing her help with something. She didn’t think Daniel or Shaw had believed her. Neither of them said anything; Shaw a stone wall of silence as usual, but Daniel smiled at her shyly as she got out of the car. For once, the sympathy didn’t grate on her nerves.

Root didn’t go back to the library. She walked as far as the sidewalk at its hidden side entrance before she froze in place, suddenly gripped with fear. What if Jason was out again? What if he had somehow gotten past both Harold and Reese and was lying in wait for her; ready to catch her unawares?

No matter how many times she told herself it was ridiculous, that there was no way Harold would make the same mistake twice; she still couldn’t force her feet to move. It took everything in her just to control her breathing, still her frantically racing heart. Every breath felt like a tug of war, a fight for her life. In and out, push and pull with all the strength she had left in her. She couldn’t make the shaking stop; clumsy, trembling fingers that she shoved in her pocket out of sight.

When she could eventually move again, she turned and fled in the opposite direction; uncaring of where she ended up. It wasn’t until familiar sights caught her attention that Root realised where her subconscious had taken her.

_Home._

No... Shaw’s place. If she even still lived here. The Machine would know, but she had said nothing since telling Root to get out of the library.

Root no longer had a key. She had left it behind when she had walked out a year ago. It wouldn’t be hard to break in. The temptation to do so was strong. She wanted to go in, lie on a soft, familiar bed; inhale Shaw’s lingering scent and pretend it was last year, that she had stayed in bed that night and never got up to answer the phone.

She wondered what things would have been like, if she had stayed. Would they still be together? Or would things have fizzled out into nothing? The both of them struggling to cope with a life, a normality, that was just not them, despite what others may have thought.

_I think She wanted you to have that life._

It didn’t matter what the Machine wanted though. The Machine couldn’t give her this life that was never meant for someone like Root. She couldn’t believe Harold’s words about the Machine letting her go either, because without the Machine, she was nothing. She had tried to pretend that she was okay with it, the silence that had become everything this past year. She tried to tell herself she could live with it, but the Machine was all that she had left and Root worried at her cut and swollen lip with her teeth and thought about how she had, just as with everything else, already lost Her.

The noise of a car engine and tires screeching around the corner at the end of the block made Root jump. She retreated into the shadows of the building as a cab pulled up and she didn’t need the Machine in her ear to tell her who was going to get out of it.

Rubbing tiredly at her eyes as she stepped out of the cab, Shaw walked towards the apartment building. Root watched her sure and easy step and pressed herself further into the shadows until her back hit the cool brick wall. Her breathing sounded so loud in the stillness of the night that she was sure Shaw was going to hear her at any moment, find her cowering in the shadows. Root wasn’t sure what excuse she could give to that, couldn’t come up with one that didn’t sound creepy or stalkerish.

Shaw paused halfway to the door; years of carefully honed instincts telling her that something was wrong. Root stopped breathing, closed her eyes as if that would somehow render her invisible. It didn’t make the stupidity that had brought her here disappear though and she only opened her eyes again, letting out a heavy breath, when she heard the sound of a door clicking open, then banging shut. Shaw was nowhere in sight and Root got out of there before she came back out to investigate.

Once again, Root let her feet carry her anywhere. She didn’t care where she was going, had nowhere _to_ go. Exhaustion clung to her eyes, making them itchy and heavy. Every step was like walking through tar and she was colder than she had ever been, all warmth seeping out of her, snatched away by the harsh New York night. It dulled her senses to the point where she could no longer comprehend where she was.

A voice told her to stop and, for once, Root was too tired to disobey it. A few moments passed before Root took in her surroundings and realised she was standing outside a hotel. Light spilled out from the front door, looking so enticing and warm. Her feet carried her inside almost of their own accord and she recited the name the Machine whispered in her ear to the receptionist, barely aware of what she was doing. The receptionist smiled warmly and tried to engage her in conversation. All Root could think about was punching the smile off her face.

She didn’t though. She didn’t have the energy for it and it was with a certain degree of weariness that she took the room key from the receptionist and stared at it blankly in her hand. Numbers were engraved in the large key chain attached, but Root’s vision swam, unable to take them in.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” the receptionist asked, a little too brightly. Her voice was grating on Root’s nerves.

Root ignored her and allowed the Machine to whisper directions in her ear. She followed them with an unsteady gait, dully taking in the pealing wallpaper and worn away carpet. The Machine told her to stop outside a door, with numbers nailed into the wood that presumably matched her room key.

It took her three attempts before she got the door unlocked, her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t get the key into the lock. When she finally let herself in, Root shut the door behind her, leaning against it wearily. She wanted so badly to just sink to the floor and sleep there. Which was ridiculous considering there was a bed only a few feet away.

Her entire body felt weak, bone weary and frail like she was ninety years old. She was still young; she should have been feeling fit and healthy but Root hadn’t felt healthy in months. She didn’t know if she would ever feel healthy again.

It felt like an age before she could muster up enough energy to make her way over to the bed. Root kicked off her shoes, but she was too exhausted to bother with the rest of her clothes.

She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Root dreamt of the library, its tall bookcases an endless maze of knowledge and wonder. Outside, the sun was high in the sky, the middle of Texas spring, hot but not enough as to make it unbearable. She hadn’t been here in years and couldn’t fathom why she was here now. She felt cold despite the sun outside and shivered as she moved through the rows of books. Something was wrong and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. It stayed with her constantly, for what felt like hours as she roamed the library’s shelves.

There was someone here with her. She was sure of it and she turned a corner, desperate to find whoever it was.

A dog barked in the distance, sounding wild and feral. A warning perhaps. The sensation of being watched intensified and Root felt a tingle of fear creep its way down her spine. She turned. Something flew at her, pushing her backwards into a shelf, sending books flying everywhere.

It was _him_.

_I’m going to make you scream for me, Root._

_No!_

She wanted to run, scream, do _something_. But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop him. And, this time, no one came to save her.

*

Root woke with a start, heart beating wildly and tears in her eyes. She let them fall and almost choked on a sob, forgetting how to breath.

_In. Out._

_Deep breaths._

Root did as she was told, until it felt like she wasn’t about to explode and the tightness in her chest eased, making breathing a little easier. The Machine informed her she had barely been asleep for thirty minutes. Root wasn’t surprised by that. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. She shed her jacket and pants to see if that helped. Her head throbbed from where she had hit it earlier; a stabbing pulse that seemed to travel from the back of her head, down her neck and seeping into the rest of her body, leaving her aching.

The only position that didn’t hurt was lying on her side, but even that grew uncomfortable and before long, she couldn’t shake the echo of her dream. It haunted her and she was sure she spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, although the Machine reassured her that she had slept a little.

Not that it mattered. She still felt exhausted, so tired she couldn’t remember what it felt like to be well rested.

She showered in the hotel room’s tiny bathroom, stayed under the spray of scalding hot water for what felt like hours and still did not feel clean when she ventured out, skin a nasty shade of pink, warm to the touch. He was still lingering, like he had somehow wormed his way under her skin and set up camp to stay there forever. She didn’t know if she would ever be rid of him and shivered, feeling cold suddenly in spite of the steam occupying the small space. Root quickly got dressed. Her clothes were covered in blood and she wasn’t sure where it had come from. Probably at some point during her fight with Jason, but she couldn’t remember.

Leaving the hotel in a hurry, Root quickly handed over her key at reception without a word. It was a different receptionist from last night and Root was mercifully spared from inane small talk this time. The Machine advised her to eat something. Root ignored Her and eventually She went silent, leaving Root in blissful peace.

For want of anywhere better to go, Root headed towards the library. She thought it would be easier in the light of day, but still her fear stopped her from entering the building. It sat inside of her like ice, freezing her in place.

The dream came back to her then, so vivid and real in the way she could still _feel_ his hands on her. Root took a step backwards, her breathing shaky as she tried to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The urge to flee and never look back had never been stronger.

But then she froze for another reason. Shaw was walking down the street, oblivious to Root’s presence as she let herself into the library. Somehow, just seeing her going inside, knowing that Shaw would be there, made Root feel a little better. That urge to flee left her, made it easier for her to take a step forwards. Each one became easier the more she took and she was inside the library before that ugly fear took hold once again.

It was early, but Finch was here already. Not for the first time, Root wondered if he ever left this place. If he even had a home. If he was just like _her._

They were in deep discussion when Root arrived, the three of them: Shaw, Reese and Finch.

“Ah, Ms. Groves,” said Harold a little uneasily as he cut Shaw off mid-sentence.

Shaw glared at him and it only darkened when she turned to face Root and found her kneeling down to scratch Bear behind the ears. The dog, as usual, seemed to be the only one happy to see her.

“Hello, Harry,” said Root, forcing brightness into her voice. It came out weary and strained and she could tell by the glances shared between the other three that they had noticed. She kept her attention on Bear, pretending that everything was fine. He was warm under her touch, but eventually he got bored and wandered off, leaving Root with no choice but to face the others.

“I’m not sure this is the wisest course forward,” Harold was saying, tensed like it was a variation of an old argument. Root straightened and moved towards them, ignoring Reese and his scowl of disproval as she passed.

“It’s our _only_ course forward, Finch,” said Shaw reasonably. She was impatiently following him around as he sorted out his books. It was his way of deflecting, but Shaw was having none of it. “We’re out of leads.”

“What’s going on?” Root asked, fully expecting everyone to ignore her. And they did. It was an unexpected voice that spoke up next when Shaw and Harold continued to stare each other down, locked in an impasse.

“Shaw wants to meet Helena Greer for another date,” said Reese, shrugging nonchalantly when Shaw shot him a glare.

“You can’t be serious?” said Root, feeling jealousy swell up inside of her. It rose up her throat, mingling with her fear and leaving her nauseous despite how ridiculous she knew it to be. “Helena Greer must know who you are. She’s playing you.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” Shaw snapped, storming off into the next room. Root watched her go, wanting follow.

“Well… I’ve got this thing that I need to… uh,” said Reese, gesturing awkwardly to the nearest exit before making his escape. Harold frowned at his retreating back.

“Harold,” said Root, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Well she’s hardly going to listen to me,” he said, shrugging as he set his attentions back onto his books.

Sighing, Root followed Shaw into the other room; Reese’s makeshift armoury. Shaw slid a fresh magazine into a USP compact before shoving the weapon into the waistband of her pants.

“This is a trap,” said Root. Ever since she had learned that name last night a sinking feeling had sat in the pit of her stomach, never leaving her.

“Maybe,” Shaw agreed, “but it’s the only lead to the codes that we have.”

“Shaw.”

“I don’t work for you,” Shaw said tightly, staring hard at Root. “I need to find those codes.”

Root understood then, the responsibility Shaw had place on her shoulders. She had failed to retrieve the codes at Grand Central Station and now she was making sure that it wouldn’t happen again. Root felt guilt swell up inside of her and looked away.

“Fine,” Root snapped, stretching past Shaw to grab a gun of her own, “but I’m coming with you.” She checked the gun’s magazine before slipping it into her waistband.

Shaw snorted. “Maybe that would be reassuring if you could get your hands to stop shaking long enough.”

Root flinched, realised her hands were doing just that, and quickly shoved them in her pockets out of sight. It was too late though, Shaw had already noticed and she was studying Root with cold, analytical eyes.

“You look like shit,” Shaw commented. Root didn’t doubt that. She felt like shit too.

“I –” Root began, suddenly at a loss for words. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Whatever,” Shaw muttered, uncaring. “Just don’t point the damn thing at me,” she added, stomping past Root. It took Root a moment to take in what she had said and she quickly made to follow before Shaw could change her mind.

*

Last night, Shaw had left Daniel to babysit Helena Greer. After Root had left, they tracked down Helena’s cab to the hotel she was staying at. Still unable to bluejack her phone and wary of venturing inside and risk getting made, they had attempted to figure out what room she was staying in by hacking the hotel’s mainframe. Well, Daniel had done the hacking. Shaw left him to it as she chowed down on some Chinese food.

Unable to find anything and deducing that Helena must be using an alias, Shaw left him to watch the front of the hotel and monitor the place’s security feeds. Daniel had drawn the short straw and he wasn’t happy about it. He was tired, but so was she and one of them needed to sleep. And since Shaw had been the one out on a so called date, she figured she deserved to go sleep more than him anyway.

He looked exhausted when she climbed into the passenger seat, laptop balanced on his knees. Root got into the back, shooting Daniel a small smile. She had been silent the whole way over here. It wasn’t the blissful silence Shaw had been hoping for. Root was like a tightly wrapped up ball of nervous energy, ready to burst at any given moment. Shaw hadn’t been joking when she had commented that Root looked like shit.

It wasn’t just the trembling hands or the bags under her eyes that indicated lack of sleep. Root was pale and haggard looking, slouching over everything she did. There were other signs too, Shaw had noted and catalogued away each of them ever since Root had come back. She was empty and broken, even before what had happened with Jason when all the fight seemed to have left her. Shaw had seen it before, this apathy, back when she was in the marines. Many of those around her suffered from it, but they had sought treatment, got better and came back to fight another day. Root, however… well, Shaw doubted she was even admitting to herself that something was wrong.

“Anything?” Shaw asked Daniel. It was a pointless question. If he’d had something, he would have called her long before now.

“I managed to hack the hotel’s security feeds,” said Daniel, turning his laptop slightly so Shaw could see the screen. “The place has a conference room. Looks like Greer’s meeting might be legit.”

Shaw looked at the laptop screen depicting a small conference room with a table in the middle only big enough to sit about eight people. Every chair was occupied: seven Asian business men and Helena Greer seated at the head of the table.

“What are they meeting about?” Shaw asked.

“No idea,” said Daniel. “I couldn’t get any sound and all their phones seem to be blocked too.”

Shaw frowned. “They could be discussing the codes then?”

Daniel shrugged through a yawn. He was useless to her like this and she told him to go home and get some sleep. He glanced at her sceptically, his eyes darting between her and Root sitting silently in the backseat.

“Maybe I should stay,” he said hesitantly. Shaw rolled her eyes. She appreciated the sentiment, but it wasn’t needed. “Okay, fine,” he added when it became clear Shaw wasn’t going to budge on this one, “but I’ll get a room in the hotel. I’m too tired to travel across town. Besides,” he added, handing Shaw the laptop, “we might need it later.”

Shaw grunted in agreement as he got out of the car. The laptop was warm on her lap and she stared at the screen a moment, wishing she could lip read. Maybe the meeting _was_ legit, but when it came to Decima Technologies, legitimate or not, Shaw knew something bad was heading their way.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast that morning. “Here,” she said, handing the laptop over to a startled looking Root. She had been staring at her hands, clenching and unclenching them, but Shaw could still see the slight tremor to them as she took the laptop. “See if you can find something on those guys.”

“Where are you going?” Root asked when Shaw moved to get out of the car. Shaw couldn’t tell if she was suspicious or just plain old worried. Either way, it grated on Shaw’s nerves and she quickly got out of the car, inhaling the musty New York air deeply. “I’m hungry,” was all she said by way of an explanation before slamming the door shut.

And it was the truth, mostly. Part of her still felt awkward and angry whenever she was alone with Root and she couldn’t help but remember what she had said last night, the honesty that had been so very easy to come out of her when she had thought it was just her and some stranger. And Daniel.

Shaw groaned. She was never going to hear the end of it and couldn’t stop herself from imaging what had been said in the car between them in her absence. She didn’t want to know. It didn’t change anything. Root would still be leaving and Shaw was sure they would all be the better off for it.

There was a coffee shop at the end of the block; Shaw got herself a large latte, extra shot, and a ham and cheese croissant to go. As an afterthought, she ordered something for Root and told herself it was only because Root was her back-up and she would need her at full capacity. She ignored the part of her that had noticed how thin Root looked compared to a year ago. All skin and bones and pasty white complexion that told Shaw she wasn’t getting proper or regular nutrients. She told herself she didn’t care, repeated it in her head on the walk back to the car, sipping at her coffee.

Root jumped like a startled kitten when Shaw opened the driver’s door. Shaw pretended she hadn’t noticed and placed her coffee in the drinks holder so she could rummage around in the bag of food.

“I’ve managed to ID two of the men at the meeting,” Root said hastily, trying to cover up how caught off guard she had been. Shaw said nothing and attacked her breakfast with gusto, moaning through a mouthful as the food tantalised her taste buds.

“They’re representatives of a company out of Japan,” Root continued. “They’re quite a big name in the technologies business. I don’t think this meeting is about the codes.”

Shaw agreed and her argument with Finch that morning about contacting Helena for another date resurfaced. Finch had been against it, worried that Helena Greer was laying some sort of trap, playing her. Shaw hadn’t disagreed with that, but she also knew that the longer they debated the issue, the easier it would be for the nuclear codes to fall into the wrong hands.

Not that they could guarantee that they hadn’t already done so. For all any of them knew, Helena had never had the codes in the first place, or if she did, they couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t already been sold to someone else.

But Shaw couldn’t take that chance. She had already let Helena dupe her once at Grand Central Station. She wasn’t about to let that happen again. She knew, sooner or later, that she was going to have to use that number on the back of the business card she had kept in her pocket since the previous night.

“Here,” said Shaw, tossing the rest of the brown paper bag onto the backseat. Root looked at it blankly for a moment before peering inside.

“You got me breakfast?”

Shaw shrugged like it was no big deal and faced the front. Her jaw clenched determinedly and she suddenly felt a loss of appetite.

“I’m not hungry,” said Root, pushing the bag away from her before returning her attention back to the laptop. Shaw glanced at her through the rear-view mirror, really looking at her properly for the first time since she had come back and not liking what she saw. Worry, hot and sticky and cloying filled her then. The same worry from a year ago when Root had started sneaking off in search of her ghost. Shaw pushed it away and forced herself to take another bite.

“Eat it later then,” she said casually, shrugging like she didn’t care.

*

Helena Greer’s meeting lasted three hours and by the end of it Shaw was bored out of her mind. They still had no idea what the meeting was about, but Root had managed to identify each of the five remaining businessmen in the meeting and concluded that Decima must be looking for investors from their Japanese friends.

“After Samaritan was destroyed, Decima’s stock value plummeted,” Root explained. “With a little help from the Machine and with Greer senior in prison, it was simple enough. No chance for them to develop another AI.”

“Is that what they are doing?” Shaw asked with concern, remembering her time hiding as a bartender under Samaritan’s reign. “Building another AI?”

Root shrugged and didn’t say anything more. Shaw wasn’t used to seeing her so lost. Usually the Machine was giving her more than enough information to give Root that all-knowing arrogance that she so loved to display. Except the Machine wasn’t talking to her now, wasn’t really talking to any of them. Not since Jason had gotten out. An emergency, life or death situation, only then would She intervene. The rest of the time, She left it up to humanity to decide their own fate. Shaw supposed it must be a good thing, even if it was frustrating to be kept in the dark.

Now the meeting was over and they could only speculate.

They needed to find the codes and figure out whatever else Helena Greer was up to. Shaw pulled the business card out of her pocket and stared at the number on the back for a moment before getting out her cell phone and dialling.

“What are you doing?” Root asked. Shaw ignored her and listened to the dial tone. It picked up after a few rings and at the sound of Helena’s voice, Shaw realised she had no clue what to say.

“Hello?” said Helena.

“Uh, it’s Sam,” said Shaw, wanting to bang her head against the steering wheel. She was uncomfortably aware of Root in the backseat, listening to everything and probably still watching Helena on the laptop. “From the bar last night. And Syria,” she added awkwardly.

“Yes, I remember,” said Helena. “What can I do for you, Sam?”

The question threw Shaw of a little and she glanced at Root in the rear-view mirror, seeking help. She only received a bitter eye roll in return.

Shaw swallowed before replying. “How would you feel about that drink?”

“I’d be delighted,” said Helena brightly. “When?”

“How does tonight sound?” Shaw asked, hoping she wasn’t pushing too hard.

“I’m staying at the Carlton hotel, how about we meet there?” Helena suggested. “Is seven okay for you?”

“Um, sounds great,” said Shaw. Well that had been easy, if a little awkward, she thought as she hung up. “What?” she asked, catching the strange look on Root’s face in the mirror.

“You’re not going to go dressed like that are you?”

Shaw scowled and looked down at her black jeans and black hoodie ensemble. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Root smirked and leaned in between the two front seats. “Surely you’ve learned by now that the grumpy black emo look doesn’t work on everyone.”

 _It worked on you_ , Shaw thought. Instead she said, “I’m not emo,” and glared until Root retreated back to where she had come from.

*

In her defiance, Shaw kept the black jeans, but ditched the hoodie in favour of a simple black blouse. She didn’t want it to look like she was trying too hard, but she couldn’t be sure who that thought was intended for: Helena Greer or Root.

After getting some rest, Daniel looked much more alert. He had been annoyed to find out about Shaw’s “date” and seemed to be voicing the same argument as everyone else: that this was a bad idea. Maybe it was, which was why Shaw told him to stay in his hotel room and sent Root to meet him there with a laptop each so they could keep an eye on things. She had checked in with Finch and Reese, and although Reese had wanted to come as back-up, they both agreed it was best he stay at the library to keep tabs on Jason.

Next she called Fusco, braced herself for the whining she as sure to endure, and rolled her eyes when he was done. Things were quiet on his end. It looked like Control hadn’t found where they had stashed Azar. Yet. She wondered if Control was watching now or if there was some other lead that they weren’t aware of that she was working.

But Shaw had her own lead to follow and it was with some trepidation that she strolled into the Carlton’s bar.

“We’ve got eyes on you, Shaw,” said Daniel through her earpiece.

Shaw grunted. That wasn’t exactly reassuring. She felt on display as she headed towards the bar. There was no sign of Helena Greer yet. Maybe Shaw had been stood up or maybe she was just running fashionably late.

At the bar, Shaw waved over the barman and ordered a beer. She wanted to keep a clearer head than she had last night. Presumptuously, she ordered a gin and tonic and sat and watched as the ice melted, sipping at her beer.

“Okay,” said Daniel, “she just walked in.” Shaw didn’t move from her position at the bar, but she could feel Helena’s eyes on her, much like how a predator sets its sights on its prey.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Helena, taking the stool next to Shaw.

“Don’t worry about it.” Shaw pushed the glass of gin and tonic towards her and forced her face into a smile. Helena had changed out of her business suit and into an elegant black dress that was tight in all the right places. Shaw swallowed, realising she was staring and looked away.

“I must say,” said Helena as she took a sip, “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

Shaw shrugged. “Well our conversation kind of got cut short last night.”

Helena smiled and placed her drink on the bar, her elbow next to it with her hand on her chin. She looked casual and relaxed and Shaw couldn’t tell if it was for real or just put on for her benefit. “You never struck me as the talkative type.”

“I’m not,” said Shaw, staring at Helena’s look of surprise and not buying it for a second.

“Is that so?” Helena said coyly, all teeth and smiles. “It just so happens that neither am I.” Shaw raised an eyebrow at that and took a sip of her drink.

“You should try to get in her hotel room,” said Daniel and Shaw almost choked on her beer. “Get access to her computer. The codes could be there too.”

Putting her beer down on the bar, Shaw leaned in closer. “Well…” she said slowly, her voice a quiet husk, “how about we go somewhere quiet and _not_ talk.”

In her ear, Daniel snorted. “ _This_ is how you pick up women? How did you two ever…” he trailed off. Realising he was referring to her and Root, that Root was in the room with him right now watching her, Shaw straightened and focused on her beer again, picking at the label absently.

“Is this a rebound thing?” Helena asked. The silence in Shaw’s earpiece was noticeable and she wished Daniel would make some wisecrack. She tried not to imagine the look on Root’s face or wonder what she was thinking, if she was remembering the conversation in the bar last night and everything Shaw had said.

Shaw drained the rest of her beer. “Would it bother you if it was?”

Helena smiled. “Not at all,” she said, leaning in to whisper in Shaw’s ear. “Why don’t we go to my room?”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Shaw said, smirking. Helena abandoned her drink and stood up, not bothering to wait and see if Shaw was following. “Okay, I’ve got access to her room,” she said quietly. “You want to tell me what I’m supposed to do once I get there?”

“You don’t know?” said Daniel dubiously.

Shaw rolled her eyes and followed Helena to the elevator. They rode it in silence. Small talk wasn’t Shaw’s thing and she was glad it didn’t appear to be Helena’s either. It was quite the game they were playing. Shaw just wasn’t sure which of them was winning.

The elevator stopped on the tenth floor and Helena got out, pulling a plastic key card from her purse. Shaw followed Helena to her room, glancing above her at the security camera on the ceiling, knowing that Daniel and Root were still watching.

“We’re right above you, Shaw,” said Root.

 _Don’t remind me,_ Shaw thought, giving the camera one last hard look before stepping inside Helena’s hotel room.

Helena had spared no expense. It wasn’t exactly the penthouse suite, but it was still big; a large lounge room with a separate bedroom and ensuite bathroom.

“I always go for the Executive Suite when I’m in town for an extended stay,” Helena explained, watching Shaw’s scrutinising gaze around the room.

“How long are you in town for?” Shaw asked as Helena busied herself turning on the table lamp next to the couch.

“For a few weeks,” said Helena uncertainly. “Possibly anyway. It really depends on this deal going through.”

“Deal?” Shaw asked, wondering if she was referring to that morning’s meeting or something else to do with the nuclear codes.

Helena smiled. “You’re cute for asking, but I don’t want to talk about work.”

Shaw winced at that and knew she had to be careful. She was here under the pretence of a good time, not to get to know each other better by talking all night.

“Would you like a drink?” Helena asked. “Scotch drinker, right?”

“Right,” said Shaw, watching as Helena moved to the minibar and began fussing with the drinks. The room itself was pristine, nothing personal was lying around or anything to specify how long Helena had been staying here for. On a small desk next to the window sat a laptop, the lid close; the only thing in the room that didn’t belong to the hotel.

“I’ve got eyes on her computer,” Shaw muttered. “Not going to be able to get to it though without her noticing.”

“We’ve got another problem,” said Daniel. “According to the hotel’s records, the room you’re in is unoccupied.”

Shaw frowned. Why would Helena break into a hotel room? Why all the pretence?

“Shaw, I don’t like this,” said Root worriedly. “You should get out of there.”

Shaw knew she was right, but she also knew this was the only shot they had and she was willing to take the risk.

“Scotch,” Helena said proudly, holding the drink out as she walked towards Shaw.

Taking it, Shaw ignored the way Helena deliberately brushed their fingers together and took a deep drink. So much for keeping a clearer head tonight; but Helena had a way about her that left Shaw spinning and in desperate need of a hard drink. It was just damn lucky that Shaw had always been good at holding her liquor.

“So,” said Helena, gesturing for Shaw to take a seat on the couch as she sipped at her own scotch. Shaw watched as her throat bobbed when she swallowed down the amber liquid, oddly mesmerised.

“So,” said Shaw and Helena smiled at her; a cocky grin with nothing but mischief in her eyes. Now that she was here, Shaw wasn’t sure how she should play this without making Helena suspicious; but, then again, she couldn’t be entirely sure how much Helena already knew about her.

“If you can get her out of the room,” said Daniel, “we might be able to get the laptop.”

“So,” Shaw repeated, a little more confidently and with a lot more meaning behind the single word as she drained the last of her drink and dumped the empty glass on the coffee table. Helena raised her eyebrow at her, almost as a challenge. Shaw didn’t need any more prompting to lean forward and crash their lips together.

She was hesitant at first, unsure as to what she was doing. It had been a long time since Shaw had kissed someone. Not since that night, when Root had left. But thinking about Root right now was a big mistake. It brought up memories and feelings, sensations that seemed to spark across every inch of her skin, arousing her more than the tentative touch of Helena’s hand on her cheek.

“Shaw?” said Daniel slowly. “Are you okay? What’s that noise?” There was a muffled thump, a quick intake of breath and then: “Oh. Right. Okay then. This is kind of gross, but –”

Shaw shut her earpiece off, not really wanting to know, or caring about, what he was going to say next. With the silence it brought, Shaw closed her eyes and suddenly she wasn’t kissing Helena. It was Root deepening the kiss, moaning into her mouth. But it couldn’t be Root, even if Shaw had spent months wishing that it was, hoping that she would just come back.

And then she had. Here she was now, upstairs, fully aware of what Shaw was doing right now.

It was for the mission, but that didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t escape the feeling that what she was doing was _wrong_ somehow. Suddenly, the air in the room thinned, she felt hot and nauseous and Helena’s perfume, barely noticeable before, was now suffocating.

Shaw pulled away to find Helena smirking at her as she casually took a sip of the scotch still in her hand.

“What…” Shaw mumbled, her lips feeling numb and difficult to move. The smirk on Helena’s lips only widened and she swallowed down the last of her scotch. Glancing to the side, Shaw spotted her own empty glass with horrifying comprehension.

She tried to reach for her earpiece to warn the others but her arm felt like lead and the manoeuvre caused her to lose balance and slip off the edge of the couch and onto the floor with a thump.

“I wouldn’t bother trying to contact your two friends,” said Helena, holding up a small rectangular device that looked a bit like a cell phone. “You won’t be able to. You see… It’s so very easy to scramble the signal.”

Shaw tried to grasp her gun, tried to do _something_ , but she couldn’t move. Her entire body had gone heavy; her eyelids the worst and it was a battle of wills just to keep them open. She was overdosing on whatever the hell Helena had put into her drink. Whatever it was, Shaw didn’t know if the dose was on purpose or only a miscalculation on Helena’s part.

“Not even your Machine can hear you now,” Helena continued. Shaw stared up at her, glaring as best she could with reduced motor functions. Harold, Root… they had all been right. This was a trap and Shaw had fallen right into it.

Helena knelt down next to her and Shaw reached out to put a hand around her throat, found her arm hadn’t moved from her side.

“Don’t try to fight it,” said Helena, reaching into to Shaw’s pocket and taking out her cell phone before slipping it into her purse. “It will all be over soon,” she promised, brushing back the hair from Shaw’s sweaty forehead. Shaw didn’t doubt that. Already darkness was blinding her vision. It wouldn’t be long before it took her completely.

This was the part where her life was supposed to flash before her eyes, wasn’t it? So many times, both as a marine and as a doctor, she had heard tales of near death experiences; how they had seen their entire life played out, from childhood until that moment, on the brink of death. And not just key moments too. Sometimes just the mundane, everyday stuff like taking a bath or walking the dog that had died when they were ten, would all come to the forefront of their minds.

For Shaw, it didn’t happen that way. She saw only two things before blackness took over her completely: her father’s face, still and grey before the paramedics carried her away from the crash site and Root… Root lying pale and thin on a makeshift hospital bed as the heart monitor she was hooked up to flat lined.


	11. Part 1: Chapter 11

_//Searching Archive..._

_//Data found..._

_//System date unknown... rough estimate... 2 months, 12 days ago…_

_//Data retrieved..._

There was something about the New York summer heat that always seemed to bring out the worst in people. The Machine had popped out fifteen irrelevant numbers in the space of four days and Shaw couldn’t help but think that it was a good thing she was back in the city.

_So much for being on vacation_ , she thought bitterly. Not that vacationing was ever her thing, but her guns needed cleaning and she was down to her last pair of wearable pants; the rest were either caked in so much blood and dirt that not even an industrial laundromat could remove it or they were so torn and ragged they could barely be called pants anymore. Daniel was in a similar state, which was probably why he had bailed after the first five numbers had come in. Shaw didn’t blame him, however; she and Reese could handle the numbers themselves and Daniel had to be just as exhausted as she was. Their stamina levels had never been quite on par, but Shaw knew Daniel would drop everything and help if they needed him.

Keeping busy was good for her, though, and that last number had been fun. It wasn’t every day you got to blow up a boat filled with cocaine. Well, not for most people anyway, and it was a first for Shaw.

By now it was nearing two in the morning, Shaw hadn’t slept in days. She could feel the exhaustion seeping heavily into her bones, wearing her down and it was an effort just to kick her boots off at the door when she stepped into her apartment. She reeked of gasoline and sweat and gunpowder but the thought of showering made her grouchy. She just wanted to pass out on the nearest flat surface and if she wasn’t careful, that was going to end up being the floor. Sleeping on the floor had never been a problem for Shaw, but it seemed a bit pointless when there was a perfectly good bed ten feet away. Shaw collapsed onto it, not bothering to strip herself of her clothes and knew that the entire bedroom was going to smell like a gas station come morning. She didn’t care. It could have smelled worse.

And it was that lovely thought that Shaw fell asleep to.

She awoke to the sound of her phone ringing, shrill and loud in the quietness of her bedroom. The urge to throw it across the room until it hit the wall was her first instinct until she remembered the large influx of numbers and figured it must be Harold and John with more. It wasn’t until she was reaching for it that she remembered she had turned the damn thing off on her way home. She was even less pleased to find that she had been asleep less than an hour.

It wasn’t Reese or Finch.

She should have known by now, but Shaw was still getting used to the Machine’s more… outgoing personality. It wasn’t a number, however, and Shaw frowned at the flight number and time displayed on the screen. A quick google search told Shaw the flight was destined for Budapest and she couldn’t fathom why the Machine would be sending her there. Daniel always dealt with this side of things. Receiving intel from the Machine and arranging where they needed to go next.

As always, the Machine’s unusual behaviour unsettled her and, uncaring of the late hour, Shaw quickly dialled Daniel’s home number from memory. It took a few moments for it to pick up, but Shaw was patient.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” a voice snapped.

“Did we get a new number?” Shaw asked, already climbing out of bed and searching around for some clean clothes that she could change into. She was starting to regret not having that shower.

Daniel sighed heavily. “I know you and Reese don’t understand what the term “vacation” means, but some of us need to rest after a gunshot wound.”

“Oh please,” said Shaw, rolling her eyes. “Relax, Daniel. It was barely a flesh wound.”

“It’s my first bullet,” he said. “Would you just let me have this one?” Yeah, it was his first and he was milking it for everything it was worth.

“So we didn’t get a number?” said Shaw, the frown back in place.

“No,” said Daniel. “Are you sure it’s not just an irrelevant? Maybe Harold fell asleep at his computer so She contacted you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Shaw absently, but since when did they receive irrelevant numbers for somewhere other than New York? Shaw was pretty sure the Machine had acquired Herself teams all over the world not only to deal with the relevant numbers, but the irrelevant ones as well.

“I’m going back to bed,” Daniel grumbled and hung up. Shaw stared at the phone for a moment, unsure what to do. She wasn’t about to catch a flight to Budapest without knowing why. For all she knew it could be some kind of trap and she couldn’t help but recall what had happened the last time the Machine had begun acting strange. Or, rather, not acting at all. Anything about the Machine that was out of the ordinary always made Shaw wary these days. She wasn’t about to risk what had happened to Daizo happening again.

It hit her then, why the Machine was contacting _her_ , something she had never done before, and not Harold or Reese or anyone else.

“This has something to do with her, doesn’t it?” said Shaw quietly into the empty and silent room. But the Machine heard her. The Machine always heard. The phone beeped again and Shaw glanced down at it. She took the flight’s departure time as confirmation and, this time, she did throw the phone across the room. It hit the floor with a satisfying thump, the outer casing breaking off. She didn’t know if it was repairable or not but didn’t care.

“No,” said Shaw, her voice low with barely suppressed anger. “And don’t ever think about asking me to do something like this again. Not about her.”

The apartment remained still. Even the city was quiet for once, no sounds of traffic reaching up from the street below and penetrating the windows. It was oddly eerie and Shaw decided she hated it.

Shaw got up, intending to have that shower after all and wanting to wash the stink away before it engrained itself into her skin. There was no use in attempting sleep again. She was too angry. And even if she did somehow manage to fall asleep, she knew what dreams would welcome her and, right now, she couldn’t face them.

 

_//Locating Analogue Interface…_

_//Asset found…_

_//Location… The Carlton Hotel, New York..._

_//Local time… 19:56…_

“You should get out of there,” said Root. She tried to mask the fear in her voice, but it was too much to hide, to pretend it didn’t exist. Shaw only ignored her anyway. It seemed like that was all she was doing lately. It took everything Root had to remind herself that Shaw knew what she was doing. This was hardly her first rodeo. She could handle it.

It didn’t stop the worry from eating away at her.

In the chair beside her, Daniel shrugged. She could tell he wasn’t happy either, but he didn’t say anything, backing his partner up all the way. Even if that meant backing his partner’s stupid decision and it _was_ a stupid decision. Root felt it with everything that she was. This was a trap and Shaw was walking right into it.

The only thing Root could do now was be there when it all went to hell.

Root reached for her gun then, just to reassure herself. It was hard and cold underneath her touch, solid and reassuring and even as she gripped it, she couldn’t stop her hand from shaking. Maybe it would still long enough for her to shoot straight at someone, if it came to it. She just hoped it wouldn’t come to it.

“Wish we had eyes on the room,” Root muttered, unsure if she was speaking to Daniel or the Machine. She listened as Helena Greer offered Shaw a drink and decided it was probably best she didn’t have to see what was going to happen next. Her mind was doing a fine enough job by itself; imagining the flirty smile on Shaw’s face, one that was so rarely ever directed at Root. That wasn’t how they worked. Root did enough flirting for the both of them. Whenever Shaw turned the tables on her with a wicked smile and fluttering eyes, Root knew she was in trouble.

But that was a long time ago. Now Shaw barely even looked at her.

“We need to get to her computer,” said Daniel, typing with frustration on his laptop. He was still looking for information about Helena Greer’s morning meeting. Root doubted he would find anything. Helena Greer was careful. Even if the meeting had been legitimate or just for show, she was _very_ good at covering her tracks.

That just made Root all the more nervous.

“If you can get her out of the room,” Daniel said to Shaw, “we might be able to get the laptop.” Root glanced at him sharply, but he seemed to be oblivious to what he had just suggested. But, _really_ , where else was this supposed to go?

Feeling suddenly hot, Root pretended not to hear the wet noises that started to come through the audio system. She closed her eyes, but that just made everything worse. She could easily picture it, Shaw and that woman. It made Root feel sick to her stomach.

Wanting nothing more than to run somewhere far away, Root opened her eyes to find Daniel frowning.

“Shaw? Are you okay?” Daniel asked. “What’s that noise?”

Root rolled her eyes. Could he really be that clueless? Evidently, he could and it wasn’t until Root accidentally knocked over a piece of Daniel’s equipment in her desperate attempt not to listen that he finally looked at her, comprehension dawning on his face.

“Oh,” he said, giving her a sheepish look. “Right. Okay then. This is kind of gross, but I think it could work if you can get her into the bedroom...” There was nothing but silence through the audio system now. “Shaw?”

“She cut the connection,” said Root flatly, staring at nothing and trying not to let  her imagination run wild. It was no use though. All she could see was Shaw kissing Helena Greer and, if she wasn’t careful, even more than that.

“I’m sure she won’t actually…” said Daniel unconvincingly. “She’s on the job.”

“It’s none of my business if she does,” said Root, surprised to find how much saying that hurt. Root took a deep breath and tried to pretend she was just as uncaring as she wanted to be. Just as uncaring as _Shaw_ could be.

She could feel Daniel looking at her, knew he could see right through whatever false words came out of her mouth, could see past the pretence, the false façade she was trying to maintain. Daniel had always been more observant than she or anyone else had ever given him credit for.

“I know,” said Daniel sympathetically, “but it’s okay if you -”

“Daniel,” Root warned.

“Sorry, I didn’t meant to -”

“No,” said Root, rushing to her feet, her stomach dropping as she looked at the second laptop. “What the hell happened to the video feeds?”

“They should be…” said Daniel, pulling the laptop closer as he scowled.

“Something’s wrong,” Root muttered, fear rising tight and hot in her throat. It was worse, somehow, than her fear in the library. More intense and overwhelming now that it was fear over someone else’s life and not her own. It urged Root into doing something. The suffocating feeling she had been experiencing for days (months, really, when she thought about it, finally _admitted_ it) was pushed to the side as she tried to reach Shaw through the comms again.

“Shaw?” Root said, her voice shaky. Only static responded and the fear solidified, tensing her up. But she couldn’t afford to freeze. Not now. Not when Shaw was in danger.

“Oh no,” said Daniel. Root found she didn’t like the worry in his voice and it only added to her own.

“What is it?” Root asked. Daniel ignored her, too busy typing away. She was too overcome with fear to work out what he was doing. Instead, she focused on the only thing she _could_ do, which was trying Shaw’s cell phone again.

She wasn’t expecting an answer.

“Is this Ms. Groves, by any chance?” said a familiar British accent, the voice cool and arrogant. Root hated it and felt her hands clenching into fists, the worry quieting a bit to make way for her anger. “The Machine’s analogue interface?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Root. She could feel Daniel tensing up beside her and ignored his questioning look, forcing herself to focus.

“Let’s not play games, shall we,” said Greer. “Not when your friend’s life hangs in the balance.”

“What have you done?” Root asked coldly, her mind picturing the worst. She closed her eyes, saw Shaw lying bleeding on the hotel room floor.

“I believe I have something that you want,” Helena Greer continued. Root knew she wasn’t talking about Shaw. She meant the nuclear warhead codes. The reason Shaw had put herself in this position in the first place. Root found she didn’t care. All she wanted was Shaw. “So you have two options,” said Greer. “Try and stop me from leaving this hotel and retrieve the codes. _Or_ …”

Root swallowed and glanced at Daniel. He shrugged. This wasn’t his decision to make, even if Shaw was his partner. He was leaving this up to Root and she wasn’t sure if she hated him for it or not. “Or what?” said Root, her voice sounding hoarse and unfamiliar.

“Or you let Shaw die,” said Helena Greer. “I slipped some rohypnol into her drink. Maybe just a tad too much,” she added, like it was just all a silly mistake. She sounded almost proud of herself and Root knew then that this was all just a game to Greer. This whole pretence with the room and the “date” with Shaw. Root couldn’t fathom why, if she even had an end goal in all of this. She had the codes; Forood Azar couldn’t possibly be the only potential buyer. So what the hell did Helena Greer want?

“You put too much faith in my so called friendship,” said Root. “I’m not just going to let you walk out of here with the codes.”

Helena Greer chuckled lightly. “Have you always been this terrible at lying?” Root bristled, anger and fear mingling together, threatening to swallow her whole. “Tick tock, Ms. Groves. Shaw’s not going to live all night.” With that, Helena Greer hung up.

In a split second, Root had already made her decision. Perhaps, there had never even really been a decision to make. Things between her and Shaw were broken and messy and although she knew it could never go back to the way it was before, that she had already lost Shaw, Root couldn’t - Root _wouldn’t_ \- just stand by and let her die. The codes were a mere after thought. She didn’t care about them falling in the wrong hands.

In that second, the only thing Root cared about was Sameen Shaw.

She couldn’t remember leaving the room, rushing down the stairs to the floor below. The next thing Root knew, she was bursting into Helena Greer’s hotel room, breathing heavily. She hadn’t even bothered to get her gun out, hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Greer still being there. Waiting for her.

The room was empty, all but the body lying lifeless on the floor.

Heart clenching tightly, Root rushed towards Shaw, dropping to her knees as her eyes scanned her body and found no obvious signs of injuries. With trembling fingers, Root reached out to Shaw’s neck, searching for a pulse and dreading what she would find.

Weak, but still there. Root let out a sigh of relief, felt tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping to the carpet next to Shaw’s head. Any relief was short live: Shaw’s chest was fatally still and Root couldn’t be sure how long she had stopped breathing for. She was running out of time.

“Sameen,” Root sobbed, shaking Shaw by the shoulder. “Please. Wake up.” Shaw continued to lie still, unresponsive and cold under Root’s touch.

_Please._ She couldn’t lose Shaw. Not like this. _Never like this._ Root wasn’t sure what she would do, how she could live with it.

But she could imagine it.

She could imagine the pain and destruction. The loss and the emptiness with no hope for an end in sight. She couldn’t let that happen. Root _refused_ to let that happen.

_Rohypnol,_ she remembered. _Overdose._

Shaw was overdosing and the longer Root sat there crying like the pathetic thing she was, the more likely Shaw wouldn’t make it.

Suddenly, Root was fifteen again. Still Samantha Groves, still somewhat a scared little girl when it came to facing her mother after being caught skipping school. Sam had come home, expecting to feel the full weight of her mother’s wrath. However, the sight that met her when she came home was a still and dark house, the front door unlocked and lying wide open. Sam knew something was wrong immediately and it was more of a morbid curiosity that had her entering the house than worry over the state her mother might be in.

What she found wasn’t surprising. Just inevitable. Her mother lying unconscious on the floor, surrounded by empty liquor and pill bottles, the pool of vomit next to her head. She was still breathing. Sam could see the steady rise and fall of her chest and she watched it, fascinated, even as it stilled.

Her mother had stopped breathing and Sam imagined how easy it would be to just leave her like this. To call the cops in an hour or so and, with tears in her voice, tell them how she had come home to find her mother dead.

So, so easy.

She was a good for nothing liar, after all.

Except… there would be consequences. Sam was still a minor. She had no other family. If her mother died then Sam would become an orphan. She would be put into the system. That uncertainty… Sam didn’t like it. She had plans. A future she was preparing for and for that, she needed unfettered access to a computer.

Sam made her decision and moved towards her mother, lifting her up with more strength than she thought she had.

That same strength found Root now and she lifted Shaw up by the armpits, dragging her towards what she assumed to be the bathroom. Shaw was lighter than Root thought she would be and, in her arms, she felt incredibly small. For all that rage and attitude and guts, this was what Shaw was reduced to. Nothing but flesh and bone, so incredibly fragile. So unlike Shaw.

Luckily, the hotel suite had a walk in shower and it didn’t take Root much more effort to get them both inside, Shaw like an awkward lump in her arms. Root turned the shower on, the spray hitting her right away. As she turned the temperature to the coolest setting, Shaw became slippery in her arms and Root shifted her grip, wrapping one arm around Shaw’s waist to keep her upright. She buried her face in Shaw’s hair, letting the tears fall unbidden as she inhaled Shaw’s scent for what she hoped wouldn’t be the last time. Root could no longer tell if she was shaking from the sobs or shivering from the cold water.

“Please,” she breathed out. “I need you to wake up.”

The tension and fear seemed to seep its way out of Root when Shaw coughed and spluttered awake. She tightened her grip, never wanting to let Shaw go again ever and leaned back against the shower wall, sliding down to the floor, bringing Shaw with her as all the energy seemed to leave her.

“You’re okay,” Root said, repeating it over and over again as she held Shaw in her arms, until she was unsure of who she was talking to anymore. Shaw was the only warmth under the cold spray, Root’s only lifeline to a world she no longer felt a part of.

And she was still alive. Albeit a little worse for wear as she sat breathing heavily in Root’s arms.

Root couldn’t be sure how long they sat there. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to be. This was where she was _supposed_ to be and she had gone and ruined everything. She had done this, all of it. Put the people she cared about in danger when she was supposed to be saving them. That was why she had left. Except she had gone and done the exact opposite it. Instead of saving her, Shaw had almost _died_ because of her.

Eventually, Shaw’s breathing slowed and Root felt an elbow in her ribs as Shaw scrambled away from her, making it to the toilet just in time before she vomited everywhere.

Root looked away, figuring the last thing Shaw wanted was an audience. She reached up to turn the shower off. No longer under the relenting spray, Root still felt cold. When she sat back down, her clothes sodden and clinging to her uncomfortably, Shaw was sitting up against the far wall, watching her. The hardness that had been in Shaw’s eyes ever since Root had come back was gone. It was an empty, defeated look that she was left with and Root thought she preferred the anger.

Anger was familiar at least.

Anger she could cope with.

“I hate the way you make me feel,” Shaw mumbled, the breath coming out of her mouth like it was catching in her throat. She sounded tired and lost, like she wasn’t sure what she was even doing here anymore.

Root met her gaze, swallowing thickly. “I know.”

She wanted to say more. Wanted to tell Shaw it was okay, whatever this thing between them was, whatever Shaw was feeling, it was okay. But the words lodged in her throat, inadequate and unbearable.

Because nothing was ever going to be okay again.

She never got the chance to say anything, even if she could find the right words. Daniel was suddenly there, bursting into the room and staring at Shaw with unabashed concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Shaw nodded absently, tearing her gaze, finally, away from Root, making her feel like she could breathe again. “There’s an ambulance on the way.”

“I’m fine-” Shaw started to protest until Daniel stared at her coldly. It was the first time Root noticed the anger in his eyes, and something else too. An emotion she had only seen in him once, right after Daizo had died.

“It’s not up for discussion,” he said firmly.

Maybe for a while there, he thought he had lost Shaw too.


	12. Part 1: Chapter 12

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Local time… 02:07…_

When Shaw woke up in the hospital – she couldn’t remember passing out in the ambulance, but evidently she had – the first thing she did was throw up. Blackened saliva dribbled down her chin and into the basin. She hated the taste of charcoal. Hated the sound of the monitor they had her hooked to. Outside the room, staring through the glass, she could vaguely see the outline of two people. One she was sure was Daniel. The other, for reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely, Shaw hoped was Root.

At some point, she passed out again, this time waking up in a different room, her head pounding and her throat raw and every inch of her screaming.

It didn’t stop her from swinging her legs off the bed though, forcing herself to sit up and fighting through nausea that felt like it was never going to end. But she made it to a standing position, her feet unsteady and the world spinning madly like she was on a carousel ride at a fair ground. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply until the feeling was gone. Then she went in search of her clothes.

Shaw could feel Root behind her before she even bothered to consider announcing her presence. Closing her eyes, Shaw could easily picture the trepidation on Root’s face and decided she didn’t want to see the real, high definition version.

Instead, Shaw focused on pulling on her boots. All her movements were slow and it had taken her a ridiculously long time to get her clothes on. Too long. Shaw had half expected Nurse Ratched (or whatever the hell her names was) to walk in and catch her at any moment. Fortunately, it looked like her other patients were keeping her occupied. Now the only obstacle in her great escape was her ex.

Shaw winced at the thought, covering up her discomfort by bending over as she sat on the edge of the bed to tie up her laces.

“Thought they were keeping you in overnight,” said Root. Apparently her concern was outweighing any wariness of what Shaw’s response might be to her unasked for presence.

“I don’t do overnights,” Shaw replied. From somewhere behind her, she heard a sharp intake of breath. She wasn’t unsure if it was from exasperation or hurt. Either way, Shaw had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Maybe it was a poor choice of words, given the circumstances. She tried not to think about how Root was the only person she had done overnights with. More than that even.

“Besides,” Shaw added, pulling on her other shoe and quickly tying up the lace, “I feel fine.” It was a lie. Her entire body was still aching. She had the mother of all hangovers and it felt like someone had shoved barbed wire down her throat.

Shoes on, Shaw stood up and glanced around the room in search of her jacket. She wasn’t sure how Daniel had managed to wing it, but somehow he had acquired her a single room with no questions asked as to why she had been overdosing on rohypnol and was suddenly in need of her stomach pumped. Not expecting to find the look on Root’s face; absolutely no trace of concern, just a touch of scepticism almost completely overwhelmed by anger, Shaw paused.

“Are you forgetting my little up and down rollercoaster torture train with Control?” she said tightly. Shaw remembered. That had been a long time ago. Before they were… well. Before they were _this_. “You are _not_ fine,” Root continued.

Shaw clenched her jaw, knowing there was no real way she could hide this from Root. “I have work to do.”

“You can take a night off,” Root protested. “Reese and-”

“Why did you let her go?” Shaw asked, watching as Root stiffened. “She had the codes and you let her go.”

Root bit her lip and looked away, saying nothing for the longest time. Shaw sighed angrily and resumed her search for her jacket, wondering why it wasn’t with the rest of her clothes. Then she remembered she had taken it off in Helena Greer’s hotel room. These weren’t the same clothes she had been wearing earlier either. The scene in the shower came back to her more vividly than she would have liked. Cold, rushing water. Struggling to breathe. Root’s arms around her waist, her face buried in her hair… and words spoken. Words Shaw had let out before she could stop them

“The codes weren’t worth your life,” Root said quietly.Shaw turned to face her. Root had saved her life. There was no denying that Shaw would be dead right now if it wasn’t for her.

But that didn’t excuse it.

The codes were still out there in the hands of Helena Greer, but who could say for how much longer.

Root may have saved her life, but Shaw was the one that had let Helena Greer escape. She had been played. Big time. Shaw had screwed up and all because she couldn’t think properly ever since Root had come back into her life.

“This is why you need to leave,” said Shaw, gesturing between them.

“I know,” said Root, shoving her hands into her pockets as she stared at her feet. It was a perfect echo of what she had said in the hotel bathroom and Shaw found she could barely look at her.

_I hate the way you make me feel._

“Which is why I’m leaving,” said Root. “As soon as this is over.”

Shaw wanted to say _Good, I never wanted you back here anyway._ Except she couldn’t force the words out of her mouth. Instead, she said, “So let’s get this over with.”

Root smiled, one so small that it didn’t reach her eyes and turned around to retrieve Shaw’s jacket from the hook on the back of the door. “Wait ninety seconds for the charge nurse to respond to the code blue in room fourteen. Then you should be clear to go,” she said, handing Shaw the jacket and careful not to let their fingers brush together. There was a time when Root would have done it deliberately, just to get a rise out of Shaw. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss that Root who could be so overt in everything that she did.

“Thanks,” Shaw mumbled, pulling it on. Root shrugged and looked away again. “I meant for saving my life,” said Shaw. “Thanks.”

“Oh,” said Root. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Right,” said Shaw, remembering Jason still locked up in the library. Just one of their many problems right now. The image of Root sitting helpless on the floor, all the fight gone out of her was not something she was going to forget anytime soon. It was hard to remember that had been just over a day ago. It felt like so much longer.

“Fifteen seconds,” said Root, slipping out the door. Shaw watched her go, counting the seconds down in her head and wondering where the codes were now, if they would ever find Helena Greer.

_Ten seconds._

If they fell into the wrong hands, this might be all over sooner that they thought.

_Five seconds._

Shaw might end up dead anyway.

They all would.

_Three seconds, two, one… time to go._

The hallway was clear, just like Root had said it would be. It looked like she had been right about that code blue. Or… at least the Machine had been. Perhaps they were talking again, Root and the Machine. Shaw was surprised to find how much she hoped that was true.

It hadn’t been the Machine that had ordered Root to save her though. Root had done that all on her own. And if Shaw were being honest with herself… she would have done the exact same thing if it had been the other way around.

She tried not to think about Grand Central Station, about the library and Jason. About how she already had.

*

“Ms. Shaw!” Harold exclaimed, staring at her with a dumbfounded expression on his face as she strolled into the library. Oh so casual as if she had been at home for a nap and not overdosing in the ER. “We weren’t expecting you back quite so soon.” Next to him, Daniel looked up at her with a frown.

“What’s our progress on finding Greer?” Shaw asked before he could insist on her sitting down or something equally as irritating in its chivalrousness.

“Mr Reese is perfectly capable of chasing down leads,” Harold insisted. “You should go home.”

Shaw ignored him and turned her attention onto Daniel. “Well?”

The minutest of looks passed between the two men before Harold was making a hasty retreat into the other room. Perhaps they had flipped a coin earlier to decide who got to deal with her. Or maybe Daniel was just taking this one for the team. Daniel sighed, crossing his arms as he stared her down.

“I knew I should have handcuffed you to the bed,” he said.

“We don’t have time for this,” Shaw snapped, tired of his over-protective bullshit. She didn’t need or want it.

“You almost died,” said Daniel and Shaw was surprised by the anger she could hear in his voice. “Barely six hours ago, so don’t-”

“But I didn’t,” said Shaw. That was six hours Helena Greer had doing only the Machine knew what. _If_ the Machine could even see her.

“Yeah,” said Daniel tiredly. “Only because Root-”

“Don’t,” said Shaw, voice low and dark. “Don’t drag her into this.”

“ _I_ didn’t. Ever since she came back you’ve-” He seemed to realise what he had said, eyes widening slightly before his anger came back in full force. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 _I wasn’t_.

But she couldn’t say it out loud. Couldn’t admit it. Not to him. Not to anyone.

 _This_ wasn’t supposed to happen.Shaw wasn’t wired for this kind of stuff. Never had been. Yet she listened, and even though she hadn’t thought it possible, she had heard these _feelings_ , whatever they were. And now she couldn’t stop having them. They were getting harder and harder to ignore with Root around and Shaw wasn’t sure how much more of it she could take.

The floorboards creaked behind them and Shaw stiffened slightly, fully expecting to find Root walking into the library.

“Am I interrupting something?” Shaw glanced over her shoulder, finding Reese strolling towards them. He looked a little haggard with his five o’clock shadow and she watched him, wondering where he had been, as he retrieved a fresh clip from his stash in the bureau near Finch’s desk.

“No,” said Shaw. “You’re not interrupting something.”

“Yes, actually,” said Daniel, tightly, “you are.”

Glaring at him, Shaw wondered if it would be worth it to argue her case again. Daniel could be as stubborn as she was and that coupled with this anger he was currently sporting meant he wasn’t about to budge on this one anytime soon.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed or something?” Reese asked, concealing his gun into his coat again.

“I’m fine,” said Shaw. She was getting tired of the over-protective big brother routine from both of them.

“You look like shit,” Reese commented. “Take the night off, I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this?” said Shaw dubiously. “So then where’s Greer?”

“We’ll find her,” said Reese. He looked fairly confident about it; but, then again, he hadn’t met Helena Greer, didn’t know what it was, exactly, that he was up against. But Shaw knew. All too well. She had come face to face with Helena Greer and she had suffered for it. Greer was smart and resourceful and they had no idea what her motivations were. If she even had any at all.

“You’re not benching me on this one,” said Shaw through clenched teeth. This was her screw up and she would be damned if she was going to let anyone else take the fall for her. She would fix this herself.

“No one is trying to bench you,” said Daniel reasonably. “You’re no use to anyone like this.” If that was supposed to make her feel better, reassure her, it wasn’t working.

“He has a point, Shaw,” said Reese.

Shaw glared. “I told you, I’m fine.” She rubbed at her temples tiredly anyway, feeling a throbbing headache coming on that wasn’t just to do with her recent overdosing. Every inch of her body was exhausted but she would fight through it stubbornly if she had too. She had dealt with worse before; had been filled with bullet holes, blood leaking everywhere and still managed to complete the mission and survive. This she could survive too. She had to. “Just tell me what you’ve got on Greer.”

Waiting patiently through the identical sceptical look they shared, Shaw breathed deeply. She tried to ignore the dizziness that was increasing in momentum with every second that she remained standing. Shaw refused to give into it. Defiant in her stubbornness as always. It took a moment for her to realise that their silence, this hesitancy, was born out of wariness rather than concern for her wellbeing. Truth was, she couldn’t decide which she found more irritating. That they were being overprotective or that they were scared of her and her reaction to whatever they were going to tell her.

“What?” Shaw asked tightly.

Sighing, Daniel shook his head and sat back down behind Harold’s computers. He knew all too well how stubborn she could be and maybe he was starting to realise he wasn’t going to win this round. “Nothing,” he said. “We’ve got nothing.”

“Wherever Greer is,” said Reese, “she doesn’t want to be found.”

“Well then, what about-” Shaw began.

“Shaw,” said Daniel firmly, “the trail’s gone cold.”

For a second, Shaw wondered if he was just saying that to make her stop and rest for a bit. Shaw didn’t believe for a second that there were no leads. Greer was Decima’s CEO, someone within the company had to know where she was. She wasn’t about to give up and she wasn’t going to let the others give up either. Helena Greer may have unlimited resources, but so did they. Not only Harold’s funds and the Machine, but the government as well. It was only a matter of time, Shaw knew, before she would have to bring Control back into this. If they couldn’t bring the codes and Greer in themselves, there was no other choice but contact Control. As much as Shaw hated asking her former employer - the person who had specifically ordered her death - for help, Shaw understood and could accept when she had lost.

She didn’t have to like it though.

“I don’t believe that,” said Shaw. “And I’m not leaving here until we find something.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, but he went to work typing at the computers anyway, ignoring her for now. She could still feel Reese’s eyes on her, watching her closely, like he was afraid she would collapse at any moment and he was waiting to catch her. Glaring at him, Shaw leant against one of the bookshelves, telling herself it was out of boredom rather than an attempt to keep herself upright. She was tired, but fighting hard not to show it and would do just about anything right now for some decent coffee and pancakes. But even lifting a fork seemed like it would be too much of an effort and she was content for now to sleep standing up if she had to. It wouldn’t be the first time and most certainly not the last.

“Uh, Shaw?” said Daniel a few minutes later. Shaw grunted and peeled her eyes open with some considerable effort. Her eyes landed on Reese, methodically cleaning his gun, before she turned her attention onto Daniel. “Why are you calling me?”

Shaw frowned. “I’m not.” She didn’t even have her cell phone on her, she realised. She couldn’t remember having it in the hospital either and she wondered if it had gotten wrecked during her little dip in the shower fully clothed. But that didn’t make any sense… If it had been damaged by the water then it wouldn’t be any use now. Then she remembered. “She took it.”

“She?” said Daniel, his brow creasing in confusion. Reese had stopped cleaning his gun and was now staring at them. “You mean Helena Greer?”

“Answer it,” said Shaw, taking a step closer and feeling suddenly more awake, the ache in her protesting muscles forgotten for now. Daniel did, putting the phone on speaker. The call connected and there was nothing but static for a moment as the three of them held their breath in anticipation.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice. Something burned deep in Shaw’s gut, anger and something else, she thought, but couldn’t be sure what. “Is this Sam?”

Shaw took the phone and gestured for Daniel to trace the call. “What do you want?” she asked, voice clipped and in no mood to play Helena’s games.

“You survived then?” said Helena. She sounded almost pleased by that. “Tell me, who else is there? Mr Finch? His favourite lackey, Reese?”

“What do you want?” Shaw repeated, spitting out the words.

“What about _her_?” Greer continued. “The one who couldn’t bear to let you die? Root, is it? Is she there too?”

Shaw kept her mouth shut, refusing to give Helena anymore ammunition than she already had. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Helena added. “I’m going to give you a second chance to retrieve the codes.”

“And why would you do that?” Shaw asked, glancing at Daniel. He shook his head; Helena must be blocking the location of the call.

“Because you have something that I want.”

Letting out a humourless chuckle, Shaw asked, “And what’s that?”

“Jason Greenfield.”

*

For the second time in as many days, Root was lurking outside of the library. She knew her fear was irrational, knew that Jason couldn’t hurt her. Not with him locked up and in the cage. A cage that was never opened now unless Shaw or Reese were there. Yet… still she hesitated, fighting back exhaustion and fear and worry and every other emotion that had been swirling inside of her ever since she had come back to New York. It was too much and Root wished fervently that it could all go away and never come back. Maybe when this was over, after she had left, maybe then it would be easier.

With that thought in mind, Root finally stepped inside the library and headed up the stairs.

On the first floor landing, Root came face to face with Jason.

In an instant, Root’s heart stopped beating, she couldn’t breathe. Her bones were like lead, the blood in her veins like ice. Root couldn’t move, could do nothing but stare at him as he smiled at her coldly.

“Hello, Root,” said Jason brightly, the grin wide on his face.

Root swallowed thickly, her throat tight. It wasn’t until Jason stumbled forward that she noticed they weren’t alone. Both Reese and Shaw were behind him. And if they hadn’t been, Jason’s hands were bound behind his back. He couldn’t touch her. Root felt relief flood through her, felt like she could breathe and let out a heavy, stilted breath as her heart calmed itself in her chest.

“Keep moving,” Shaw ordered, pushing Jason down a step. Root pressed herself up against the wall, back flat against it as they passed. Still he was too close. His presence invaded her, filling her senses and she felt nauseous as she unwilling inhaled his scent.

“W-what’s going on?” Root asked, hating how broken and shaky the words sounded coming out of her mouth. A brief look passed between Shaw and Reese before Shaw gestured for him to keep going, Jason’s movements slow as he struggled down the stairs. Shaw waited until they were out of earshot before she turned to face Root. She had always been good at keeping a neutral expression, but Root could tell by the downcast of her eyes, the way she twisted her lips, that she wasn’t happy about this, whatever it was.

“Look, Root -” she started, her voice soft and low. That alone sent alarm bells ringing in Root. “Greer wants Jason in exchange for the codes,” she explained.

“No,” said Root.

“Root-”

“You can’t,” said Root. She knew she sounded hysterical, her voice louder that she had intended, but she didn’t care. “You can’t just let him go.”

“We don’t have a choice, Root,” Shaw snapped. She seemed to realise how harsh she sounded and looked away.

“I didn’t waste a year of my life looking for him just for you to let him go,” Root said.

“No,” Shaw scorned, “you wasted a year of your life because you couldn’t handle-” Shaw clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. “I’m not doing this. We’re on a deadline.” She turned to leave, but Root grabbed her arm, stilling her.

“Shaw, please,” she begged. “Don’t let him get away with this.”

“Let go,” Shaw seethed, voice low and deadly. Her jaw was clenched so tight her muscles were twitching and Root knew if she kept pushing, Shaw would do more than glare at her.

“Please,” said Root, letting go of Shaw’s arm. She bit her lip as she saw the resignation in Shaw’s eyes. She had already made her decision.

“I’m sorry,” said Shaw, “but I don’t have a choice.”

There was nothing Root could do but watch her leave. She thought about following, telling Shaw that line was bullshit, there was another way to find the codes without bringing Jason into it. She thought about running downstairs and putting a bullet in Jason before they could take him anywhere. She wondered which of them would shoot her first: Reese or Shaw.

But she couldn’t do any of those things. Shaw wouldn’t listen to her and Root doubted she could hold a gun steadily enough to aim it straight and actually hit her mark. She was too angry. Too scared. Too _weak_ to do anything but stand there.

Instead, Root headed upstairs to Harold’s office. By the time she made it, taking two steps at a time, her heart was wildly thumping in her chest, the air barely filling her lungs.

“Ms. Groves?” said Harold, looking startled.

“Where are they taking him?” Root asked hurriedly.

“Root,” said a voice behind her. She whirled around to find Daniel looking at her briefly before glancing away.

“You don’t want them to do this either,” she said, knowing he had taken Daizo’s death - Jason’s _betrayal_ \- just as hard as she had.

“What am I supposed to do, Root?” he said. “They won’t listen to me.”

“We can’t let them do this,” said Root. Angry to find tears in her eyes, she quickly wiped them away.

“Ms. Groves,” said Harold softly. “I believe this is why the Machine allowed you to find him. So we could use him to retrieve the codes.”

Root shook her head, the truth of his words cutting at her like a knife. She couldn’t be sure if that was the only reason. If the Machine had other plans.

“I don’t care about the codes.”

Harold looked at her sharply. “You are really willing to sacrifice millions of lives-”

“It won’t come to that,” said Root. She wanted to say that the Machine would protect them, all of them. A year ago, the words would have come so easily out of her mouth. Now she struggled to see the Machine’s plans, blinded by her anger at the Machine’s lengthy silence, at Her refusal to help her find Jason sooner.

“You cannot know that for sure, Ms. Groves,” said Harold.

“Where,” said Root, struggling to hold back her desperate anger, “are they?”

Behind her, Daniel sighed and moved towards the bureau. Root watched him out of the corner of her eye as he armed himself, shoulders straightening as he prepared himself for a fight. “They’re meeting Helena Greer at Citi Field stadium. I’ll take you.”

“Mr Casey-”

“Reese and Shaw, despite what they may think,” said Daniel reproachfully, “can’t do this on their own. Greer’s smart. She’ll have a plan to keep both Jason and the codes.”

“I’m sure both Mr Reese and Ms. Shaw are well aware of that,” Harold said earnestly. Root wanted to scoff. He always did look at Reese with rose coloured eyes and now it would seem he was doing the same with Shaw.

“They’ll still need our help,” said Daniel. Too Root, he added, “Are you coming?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath as she armed herself with a second gun. It was one of Reese’s, a little bigger than she was used to, but it would do. She followed Daniel out of the library, out into the sunny New York street. The brightness seemed so startling to her, yet it still could not breach the darkness swelling inside of her, like a hurricane waiting to destroy everything.

“Thank you,” she said, as they approached the Sedan parked out on the street in front of the library.

Daniel paused halfway to opening the driver’s door. “He won’t get away with this,” he promised her.

Root smiled. Because he understood. He _knew_ , just like her, that Jason had to die for what he had done.


	13. Part 1: Chapter 13

As Daniel drove them over the Queensboro Bridge to Queens, Root found herself becoming more and more nervous. It was like the closer she got to Jason, the worst she felt. Her palms were sweating, the blood pumping in her veins so fast she thought it was going to burst out of her skin. She felt sick to her stomach and had to keep reminding herself to breathe. If Daniel noticed, he didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes straight on the road. It made her wonder if he was starting to have second thoughts. But she couldn’t allow herself to think that way and forced herself to think about the mission. Because that was what this was. Just a mission. Jason was just another number to work. This time the perp and not the victim.

“Why Citi Field?” Root asked when the silence in the Sedan became too much. She had been wondering about that for a while. It seemed like an odd choice of location. Especially when there wasn’t a game on. No crowd for Helena Greer to blend into.

“Decima owns the stadium,” said Daniel.

“Why would a technologies company need to own a baseball stadium?” Root asked, frowning in confusion.

Daniel shrugged. “Maybe they’re Mets fans.”

Maybe… or they were using the stadium as a front for something else. It didn’t matter, but it was with some growing trepidation that the Machine told her She couldn’t see inside the stadium. They would all be going in blind, facing the unknown and Root didn’t like it one bit.

Helena Greer was bad enough all on her own, but throwing Jason into the mix… Root knew this could not end well. For any of them.

“Why him?” she asked. “Why does Greer want him?”

“They’ve been working together,” said Daniel. Root wanted to protest to that. She had been following Jason for a year now, always several steps behind but she had gotten good at uncovering what he was working on. Even if half the time she was always too late to stop him. Not once in all her searching had she ever come across Decima or Helena Greer. Jason, it would seem, had covered up his tracks well. How much of what she had uncovered had been left on purpose, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a trap? She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to remember any of it and how much she had given up for what, ultimately if they let Jason go, would have been a fruitless search.

“How did she know we had him?” Root asked. Not for the first time, she imagined what would have happened if she hadn’t let Greer go, if her first instinct hadn’t been to save Shaw’s life.

“When he got out of the cage,” said Daniel, “he must have contacted her.”

Root bit her lip, not liking the reminder. The memory was still so vivid in her head, so fresh and clear. She could close her eyes and Jason would be right in front of her, pressing himself against her. Root shivered and forced herself to open her eyes. Sleep, in the short hours she had attempted it last night, had eluded her. If she wasn’t dreaming about Jason in the library, she was dreaming about Shaw dying on a hotel room floor.

“You okay?” He asked it quietly, but it still made Root jump. All her nerve endings were on high alert and she couldn’t remember the last time she had been this jumpy, this much of a wreck.

Root nodded hurriedly. “I’m fine. Once we get there, I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. Every word out of her mouth felt like a lie, the truth so hard to find, somewhere far away and out of her reach.

“We’ll stop him,” Daniel assured her and it was almost like he was lying to himself too.

“What if we don’t?” Root asked, finally voicing the fear that she had been carrying around with her for a year now. What if she never stopped him? What if he hurt someone else? Someone she loved and there was nothing she could do about it. She had saved Shaw’s life yesterday, but what if she never made it in time to save it a second time? Root had no clue what she would do then.

“We have to,” said Daniel. Maybe he knew, that this was it for Root. If they failed now, then she would have nothing else to lose.

Nothing else to live for.

“I hope so,” Root mumbled. “I really hope so.”

They spent the rest of the journey in silence, Root trying not to wring her hands together nervously. Trying to keep it all locked up inside so that the only outward sign of how adrift she felt was the absent worrying of her bottom lip with her teeth.

When they arrived, Daniel parked the car right outside the stadium. The Machine started rambling instructions in her ear. She couldn’t see, but from their phones, She could assess Shaw and Reese’s positions. They had split up and Root found that familiar worry stirring in the pit of her stomach.

“Greer brought some friends with her,” said Root. The Machine counted six cellular phones, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more than that inside. They were outnumbered, but Root had suffered worse odds and survived.

“Where’s Jason?” Daniel asked.

“She can’t see, but they haven’t brought him out yet,” said Root, glancing up and down the street, half expecting Decima operatives to be escorting Jason out to a flashy car or something. The street was empty, save for the two of them and some seagulls fighting over a scrap of food.

“Sewer system,” said Daniel suddenly. Root frowned at him. “The stadium has access to the sewer system. They’re going to take Jason out that way.”

“And the Machine won’t be able to see him,” Root finished. It was a good plan. Exactly what she would have done if she was avoiding the eyes of an all-seeing god.

Daniel took the gun out from the waistband of his pants, checking the clip quickly in a way that only Shaw could have taught him how to do. “Let’s go,” he said.

Root nodded and followed him inside, taking her own gun out. The pistol was heavy in her hand and she gripped onto it tightly to stop her hands from shaking. Adrenaline filled her veins, her heart thumping hard to spread it throughout her body. She felt on fire from it.

Inside, the building was empty and quiet. On this floor, the Machine informed her that there were four operatives. There was one up in the stands and one in the vague location of a private viewing box.

“The sewer access is this way,” said Daniel, turning to the left. Root hesitated as the Machine continued to give her more intel. “Root?”

_Operative Sameen Shaw one hundred and fifty yards north, four floors up. Operative survival chances 34.0545%._

“I-” Root stammered. She trusted the Machine, she always had, but she couldn’t help but wonder if this was a lie, if Shaw’s chances were really that slim. Not once, in the last year, had the Machine helped her to find Jason. Not until a few days ago, when She had led Root right to him. It wasn’t just a way for them to retrieve the codes, Root knew it couldn’t be. She could start to see what the Machine was doing now. She knew why and the resentment she felt towards the Machine was stronger than any fear she had ever felt.

Because of course she was going to pick Shaw.

She was always going to pick Shaw.

“Root?” Daniel asked again, holding onto her elbow tightly to grab her attention.

“Shaw needs my help,” said Root. “Four operatives are taking Jason out through the sewers. John’s up on the stands. Find him and you can both-”

Daniel shook his head. “There’s no time for that, we need to go now.”

“Daniel,” said Root slowly, eyes begging him to understand. She had given up a year of her life to stop Jason, to protect the people she cared about. To protect Shaw. She couldn’t give up on her now. “I have to help her. I can’t just-”

“I know,” Daniel sighed. “Just…Be careful.”

“What about Jason?” Root asked.

“We’ll stop him,” said Daniel. “Go.”

Root needed no more encouragement and she tightened her grip on the gun in her hand as she headed for the nearest flight of stairs, her footsteps echoing ominously around the empty stadium. The Machine guided her, but Root didn’t need Her help. Finding Shaw, helping her, it was like a homing beacon for Root. Almost instinctively, she knew where to go and with every step she felt her fear falling away, replaced with something else. Something hard and unfamiliar. Something she couldn’t bear to ever let go of.

By the time Root reached the fourth floor, she could hear a commotion up ahead. She followed it, keeping her gun out ahead of her, ready to shoot the first unrecognisable person she saw. Although she felt ready, no longer held back by her own fear, Root’s feet seemed to move so slow, like she was pushing her way through never ending quicksand. Finally she reached the viewing box, the door ajar. She kicked it open with her foot and found Shaw inside, ducking to avoid Helena Greer’s swinging fist. Next up was a stiletto in Shaw’s foot that she failed to avoid, her movements sluggish. Blood trickled down Shaw’s face from a cut on her forehead and her chest was rising and falling heavily from the exertion. She looked like crap and she was losing the fight. Badly.

Root’s sudden appearance distracted Shaw for barely a moment, but it was enough for Greer to get the upper hand, pulling a knife out and holding it dangerously close to Shaw’s throat. Root aimed her gun, cursing her shaking hands as her eyes met Shaw’s, cold and hard and screaming _don’t you dare._

But Root fired anyway, closing her eyes as soon as her finger had squeezed the trigger. She couldn’t look. Could only listen to the harshness of the gun going off, the sound of shattering glass. She heard a grunt, then Helena Greer crying out in pain and quickly opened her eyes. The glass behind them had smashed from the force of Root’s bullet, but it must have distracted Greer long enough for Shaw to take the knife from her. Now Shaw was winning, forcing the knife into Greer’s side and pulling her into a choke hold, cutting off her air supply until she passed out.

“Tell me,” said Shaw, breathing heavily as she let Greer drop to the floor. “Was that where you were aiming for?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” said Root, letting her arm fall to the side and clicking the safety on with her thumb. If anything, her hands were shaking worse than before.

Shaw stared at her for a moment and Root thought she could detect the slight hint of a smirk on her face. “No,” she said eventually, pulling a zip tie out of her pocket and kneeling down to secure Greer with it. “How did you know we were here?”

“You can’t let them have him, Shaw,” said Root, watching as Shaw climbed back to her feet.

Sighing, Shaw swiped a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Daniel told you, didn’t he?”

Root said nothing, staring out through the broken window. Someone was out on the stands, but she didn’t think it was a random civilian. She took a step closer, ignoring Shaw’s questioning look. Even from this distance, she could make out Reese on the stands, fighting with one of Decima’s operatives. She couldn’t really tell from this far away, but could make out blonde hair, with the curves and stature that was distinctly female. He didn’t look like he was winning his fight either.

“Daniel was supposed to…” Root muttered, quickly turning to face Shaw. “Daniel’s gone after Jason by himself.” She made to leave, determined to reach them before the worst could happen.

“Wait,” said Shaw, grabbing onto her arm and pulling her back. Root tried to pull out of her grip, but Shaw was holding on too hard. “I need you to check these codes are the real deal.”

“Let go of me,” said Root, her voice low and unrecognisable and so _angry._ Shaw let her go, taking a step back like she had been burned.

“Root-”

“I don’t care about the damn codes,” Root snapped.

Staring at her for a moment, Shaw’s eyes softened, like she had forgotten who she was talking to. Forgotten all that Root had done. “What happened to you?” Shaw said quietly.

“What happened to me?” Root said incredulously. “You’re asking me this _now_?”

“Root, don’t-”

“I have to find him,” said Root, heading for the door again, “ _before_ he hurts someone else.”

“Even if you get yourself killed in the process?” said Shaw tiredly, making Root freeze mid step. “Because that’s what you want, isn’t it? Going off by yourself like this, like you did a year ago… It’s only going to end one way, Root.”

“Why do you even care?” said Root, refusing to turn around. She didn’t want to see the look on Shaw’s face. It was easier to pretend, to imagine the anger on her face.

“I never stopped caring,” said Shaw, closer now. Root could feel her breath on her neck, Shaw’s body warm behind her. Her voice seemed startled by the honesty of her words and when Root turned sharply, she caught the look of surprise on Shaw’s face, a flash of something else before Shaw shoved a laptop in her hands. “I need you to check these codes. I’ll go after Daniel and Jason.”

“Shaw-”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me,” she added, hurrying out of the box. Root could do nothing but watch her go, listening to her footsteps as they disappeared. She took a heavy breath, placing the laptop on the table in the corner of the room and quickly turning it on.

She couldn’t stop the tears that dripped down onto the keys, blurring her vision. Couldn’t stop the fear burning deep in her gut. Couldn’t stop the trembling of her fingers as she tried to type or the beating of her heart, so fast and uncaring and so very tired.

Nor could she stop the Machine in her ear or the anger she felt with every word that was spoken to her.

*

Every step was painful, sending a jolt of fire up Shaw’s leg. She didn’t think it was broken, but the muscles were sprained and protesting violently; her old knee injury flaring up like something awful. Her side was aching too and Shaw pressed her fingers into the skin, wincing as she climbed down the stairs. Couple of cracked ribs, she assessed. Greer had more fight in her than Shaw had been expecting. She was reluctant to admit it, but Root had saved her ass back there. Again.

It didn’t stop the bitterness rising in her throat. Daniel had no right to bring her here, to interfere. The mission came first. It had to. This _thing_ between her and Root, whatever it was, could not be allowed to get in the way. Not again. Not this time.

The stairwells were clear, but Shaw kept her gun out, not entirely sure what to expect.

“Shaw,” said Root through her earpiece. “She says more Decima operatives just arrived at the south entrance.”

“Stay where you are, Root,” Shaw ordered. She could easily picture Root in her mind, gun out and desperate to fight, hands shaking so bad she could almost vibrate her way through the floor. “We can’t lose those codes.”

“But-”

“Didn’t I tell you to trust me?” said Shaw and shut off her earpiece. She needed to concentrate and Root worrying in her ear wasn’t helping. She couldn’t be sure that Root would do as she asked (when did she ever?), but she couldn’t think about that right now. She had to focus on finding Daniel and Jason.

Shaw rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and came face to face the muzzle of a gun. 45. calibre. Good model. At this distance her brain would be coming out of the back of her head, absolutely no hope of survival. Shaw lowered her gun.

“Shaw?”

The voice was vaguely familiar and it wasn’t until he lowered his own gun and took a step back that she recognised the man in front of her.

“Grice?”

“Thought you were dead,” said Grice. Even though it had been about five years, he still had the same surprised, wide eyes. He never had been good at keeping a poker face, no matter how much she had tried to beat it out of him.

“Not exactly,” said Shaw, smirking. “Still working for the ISA?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. Control had gotten her message, it would seem. Better turning up late than not turning up at all.

“How did you-” Grice began.

“No time,” said Shaw. “We got hostiles coming in from the south. Five are heading towards the sewer entrance.”

“I counted six,” said Grice. “Took out four. One got away, the other went after him.”

“About six foot, dirty blonde hair?” Shaw asked. Grice nodded and Shaw cursed her breath. So Daniel had caught up with them then. Which meant he was about to do something incredibly stupid. “Can you deal with the ones at the south entrance?” said Shaw, not giving him time to answer and ignoring his questions as she hurried in the direction of the sewer entrance. She passed the four bodies Grice had taken out. All of them had bullet holes to centre mass and Shaw bit back a curse. Shooting to kill hadn’t been part of the plan. Just like Daniel and Root turning up hadn’t been part of the plan either. Grice was a good guy, but if he ran into Root and she started waving a gun at him… well, Grice was always going to shoot first and ask questions later. It was what she would do and she had trained him herself, after all.

Carefully stepping over the bodies, Shaw tapped on her earpiece. “Daniel, where are you?” She got nothing but heavy breathing in response.

“He’s about three hundred yards to your left, Shaw,” Root chimed in. Shaw clenched her jaw at the intrusion.

“You’d better still be in the viewing box,” she said tightly.

“I am,” said Root. Shaw couldn’t tell if she was lying or not and she felt like cursing under her breath again.

“Do you have the codes?” Shaw asked, trying to keep Root focused on what she was supposed to be doing. The codes were the mission priority, securing them was their primary objective. But Root had never been a soldier. The only orders she had ever followed where her own or the Machine’s, and even then Root liked to do things her own way. Which often translated to the most reckless, obnoxious thing possible.

“I’m not sure yet,” Root admitted.

“Then don’t talk to me until you are,” said Shaw, dipping her voice lower as she reached the steps that led down to the sewer entrance. She could hear voices ahead. One angry and the other… the only way Shaw could describe it was uncaring amusement.

_Jason_.

Only he could be so cavalier in a situation like this. He was similar to Root in that aspect; just one of many things that Shaw didn’t like to think about too often and doubted Root did either. However, where Root had reformed her ways, devoted herself to the Machine and helping others, finally learning to care about other people, Jason was still the same smug, uncaring, immoral murderer he had always been. Now he didn’t have to hide it behind a mask. He could show the world who and what he really was and he could get away with it just like he had gotten away with kidnapping Gen and torturing Root and, when it came down to it, the murder that had driven Root away in the first place.

Daizo’s death had touched them all in so many different ways, but Shaw didn’t think anyone had taken it inside of them, wrapped it up and made it their own like Root had. Root blamed herself for his death as if he had been one more name to the long list of people she had killed before she met the Machine. In Root’s eyes, she might as well have pulled the trigger herself.

And maybe that was what she was doing. This penance, this year of hunting a man that couldn’t be caught, was Root’s way of removing the guilt, of making Daizo’s death worthwhile. If Jason escaped now, if he got away with it _again_ , then everything Root had given up, the reasons she had walked out that night a year ago now, would all be for nothing. A year spent wasted, withering Root away down into nothing.

But Shaw couldn’t let that happen. She _refused_ to let that happen. The codes were - hopefully - secure in their hands, they had Helena Greer tied up and ISA agents were swarming the place, rounding up the operatives she had brought with her. The only thing left to do was to find Jason and make sure he finally paid for everything he had done.

Even if that meant Shaw had to kill him herself. She would do it. She would do that for Root.

Shaw’s foot landed on the last step down to the sewer entrance. The voices were louder now and she could make out the second one. Daniel was unmistakable in his fury and she wondered how long he had been holding onto that anger, letting it build up inside of him, taut like a spring until he was ready to set it free and watch it bounce everywhere.

“Daniel,” said Shaw cautiously as she surveyed the scene: Jason lying on the ground, clutching at a wound on his shoulder. Blood was pooling at his side, but not enough to kill him. Daniel stood over him but as soon as he heard Shaw, he whirled around, gun raised and pointed at her head. The manic glint in his eye, the feral twisting of his lips, all told Shaw that he was too far gone to listen to reason right now.

“Get out of here,” he yelled, waving the gun wildly. Shaw watched as his hand tightened its grip, his pointer finger twitching minutely. Any harder and the thing would go off. The bullet going straight for her head.

“Daniel,” said Shaw slowly, carefully tucking her gun into the waistband at her back, nice and slow and deliberate. “Take it easy.”

“Just go,” said Daniel. The despair in his voice was enough to make Shaw wince. Because he couldn’t bear to let her see him do it. It was a private, solitary thing, murdering someone and that first time was always the hardest.

For most people anyway.

For Shaw it had been easy. And the one after that had been simple too. It wasn’t until later, until working for Finch and the Machine that she had learned - or, perhaps, _tolerated_ \- the value of life. All life.

“What are you gonna do, Daniel?” said Shaw, holding her hands up defensively.

“Shaw, I have the codes,” said Root. Shaw bit her lip, not daring to give anymore outward sign than that to acknowledge that she had heard her. She couldn’t be sure what would set Daniel off. Blinded by his grief and his anger, he was immune to rationality. He couldn’t see what he was doing was wrong. Jason was injured, they had him and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Are you going to kill him?” asked Shaw. “Huh? Is that what you are going to do?”

“Shaw, what’s going on?” said Root, concern in her voice now. Shaw ignored her.

“I don’t...” said Daniel, his face rumpling in confusion. “I- He killed Daizo!”

“Yeah,” Shaw agreed. “And if you shoot him now, you’ll be killing him in cold blood, just like he murdered Daizo.”

“I’m coming down there,” said Root. Shaw wanted to yell at her to stay where she was, but she couldn’t. Instead she remained absolutely still, eyes never leaving Daniel’s or the gun he had pointed at her.

“Stay out of this, Shaw,” said Daniel. “You don’t-”

“I don’t what?” said Shaw. “Know what it’s like to kill someone? I do, Daniel. And I know there’s no chance in hell you’re going to be able to live with yourself after it. No matter _who_ it is.”

“No,” said Daniel, shaking his head. He still had the gun pointed at her and it moved with him. Daniel was good on a firing range; under pressure… she trusted him to have her back in the field, but Shaw had never seen him like this, wild and unrestrained. She couldn’t be sure what he would do if she attempted to disarm him. On any other day, she would have done it by now; but two cracked ribs, a sore knee and her body still recovering from an overdose… even Shaw knew when to assess her limits and call it quits.

“I’m not just going to allow you to let him go,” Daniel snarled.

“Who said anything about letting him go?” said Shaw and Daniel looked at her in surprise. The gun wavered in his hand for a moment, yet she still did not trust herself to disarm him without it going off.

From the corner of her eye, Shaw saw moment. She darted her eyes, watched as Jason shifted to grab the gun far beyond his reach. It was barely a second she had taken her eyes from Daniel, but he had caught her movement and regardless of whether or not Jason was ever going to reach that gun, Daniel was swinging his own in Jason’s direction. It went off, loud and harsh in the cramped space, the bullet tearing into Jason’s chest.

For a moment, her ears ringing, Shaw thought he was going to fire again, but Daniel just stood there, frozen on the spot, staring at Jason like he couldn’t quite believe what he had just done.

“Daniel,” said Shaw, her voice sounding so quiet in the aftermath of the gunshot. “Give me the gun.”

He did it automatically, his eyes never leaving Jason, watching the blood pouring from the hole in his chest, pumping out in rushing waves that crashed to the floor. A rasping choking sound escaped Jason’s lips as he struggled to breath, gasping to get air in his lungs and failing. Shaw took Daniel’s gun. It felt warm in her hand, almost clammy from him holding it so tightly. He barely seemed to notice her, his eyes distant and although he was watching the last breaths Jason Greenfield would ever take, Shaw wasn’t sure he was even really seeing it at all. He may as well have been somewhere else and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was back there, in that safe house a year ago. If he was picturing this as how Daizo had died.

Eventually, the sounds stopped, Jason stilled as his eyes lulled closed. Shaw stepped over to him, pressing her fingers against his still warm neck. Behind her, she could hear the rapid hammering of footsteps on the stairwell, too hasty and loud to be Grice and his team. She knew Root was behind her without having to look, knew her eyes had assessed the scene, found her kneeling beside Jason. Maybe she noticed how far away Daniel looked and put two and two together. Either way it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change the outcome or the look of relief that flooded Root’s face, no trace of disappointment that it hadn’t be her that had gotten to pull the trigger.

“He’s dead.” Shaw climbed to her feet, her eyes meeting Root’s. A year Root had been waiting to hear those words. A year searching and hoping, seeking revenge, maybe even justice. Now that it was over, now that he was gone and couldn’t hurt her - couldn’t hurt any of them - anymore, Shaw hoped it was worth it.

It didn’t feel like it to her.

*

“Are you sure this is wise?” Harold asked, watching as ISA operatives brought out the last of Greer’s men, hands bound behind their backs. “This government isn’t exactly known for its pure intentions.”

“I used to work for that government,” Shaw pointed out. She would be affronted if it wasn’t for the fact that said government had tried to kill her once upon a time. “And _you_ sold them an all-seeing AI.”

“Fair point,” said Harold. Then he frowned. “Have you seen Mr Reese?”

“Right here, Finch.”

Shaw turned, finding Reese limping towards them with an eye shining so bright that there was no doubt in her mind that it was going to turn black and blue tomorrow.

“What happened to you?” she asked, smirking as he leaned heavily against Finch’s car.

“I’m getting far too old for this,” Reese complained, slumping his shoulders and closing his eyes.

“Did you get beat up by a girl?” Shaw asked, chuckling lightly when Reese scowled.

“Yeah, and he let her go too,” said a voice behind them. Shaw turned to find another one of Control’s ISA agents. Shaw had worked with her once or twice on a few joint ops, but nothing ever up close and personal. She was glaring at Reese. Evidently she didn’t like losing people either, or leaving a job so messy. But that was the ISA way, cleaning up after yourself. No matter how badly the mission had gone. “You’re Shaw, right?”

Shaw nodded.

“Grice talks a lot about you,” she said. Shaw found herself wincing at the raised eyebrow Reese shot her. “Brooks.” She held out a hand for Shaw to shake. Surprisingly, Shaw found herself taking it, too exhausted to refuse. “Nice work.”

“You too,” said Shaw, watching as she walked away. She didn’t know why, but for some reason, Shaw had expected the ISA to struggle in her absence. Grice, Brooks… they were both good agents, but Shaw and Cole had been the best. They trained the others, but none of them had ever compared. Not that the ISA was even the same anymore. Northern Lights had been shut down and the government hadn’t received a single number since Samaritan had been destroyed.

But the world was changing, the _Machine_ was changing… perhaps the ISA would change someday too.

“Shaw,” said Reese, nodding at something behind her. Shaw followed his gaze, finding a black jeep with tinted windows pulling up to the stadium entrance.

“Excuse me,” said Shaw darkly, knowing who it was. The car screamed espionage and of course… who else was going to show up late to the party? Approaching the car, Shaw could feel the other’s eyes on her. Neither Finch nor Reese had been happy about her plan to bring Control into this, but Shaw hadn’t seen any other way. There was no chance in hell she and Reese could have stopped Greer on their own, retrieve the codes _and_ stop Jason from getting away. And her plan had worked, mostly. Just not in the way she would have liked.

Rapping on the window with her knuckles, Shaw waited with ever growing impatience for Control to make her appearance.

“Agent Shaw,” said Control as the window rolled down. “Do you have the codes?”

“Hello to you too,” Shaw muttered, but she turned and gestured for Root to come over with the laptop anyway. Root handed it over, looking just as concerned has Harold about who they were giving it to and watched with suspicious eyes as Control passed it to someone in the seat beside her.

“I hear we have Helena Greer and several of her operatives in custody,” Control continued. “Plus several others dead.”

Shaw nodded.

“And Forood Azar?”

Turning her head, Shaw nodded in the direction of the parking lot and tapped on her earpiece. “Lionel?” The driver’s door of the lone Sedan in the parking lot opened and Lionel Fusco stepped out, hurriedly moving around to the back and opening the trunk. Shaw could hear him grumbling, “Can I get some help over here?” before both Reese and Grice moved over to him; Grice with his hand on his gun and Reese just looking tired. The three of them hauled Azar out of the trunk and Grice took him into custody.

“Very well,” said Control, her face contorted into a stern look that seemed to grasp onto Shaw and hold her tight before she could move away. “One more thing.”

“What?” said Shaw tightly. If this was another fucking job offer…

“There is one body unaccounted for,” said Control. “Found near the sewer entrance.”

Next to her, Root stiffened.

“Jason Greenfield,” Shaw explained. “He was working with Greer.”

“Never heard of him,” said Control. “Should I have?”

“Bomber virus,” said Root blandly. “Infiltrated the pentagon in ‘09. Trojan worm; shut down all of Wall Street for a day seven months ago. He’s wanted by seventeen governments, all under different names. He’s a thief and a murderer and-”

“Root,” said Shaw and she immediately clamped her mouth shut, ducking her head no doubt to hide the tears now swimming in her eyes.

“Well,” said Control, glancing briefly at Root before returning her gaze to Shaw. “Him being dead can only be a win.”

“Yeah,” Shaw muttered as the window slid upwards, hiding Control from view. _But at what cost?_

She took a step back as the car pulled out of the space, driving Control back to who knew where. DC, the Pentagon… whatever she was doing now for the ISA. Although Northern Lights had been a bust, she was still one of, if not the most, powerful women in the country. Shaw didn’t know whether to be worried about that or impressed.

“So that’s it?” said Root quietly. “It’s over?”

“I guess so,” Shaw muttered, staring down at her feet. She thought it would be different, now that Jason was dead; but everything was still so awkward and muddled. Root was still this deflated, broken thing that she had no idea how (or was even sure she wanted) to fix.

“Then I guess,” said Root slowly, her eyes staring determinedly at anything but Shaw, “it’s time for me to go.”

“What?” said Shaw, eyes snapping to Root’s face. It was what she wanted, she knew this was coming, at yet it still felt like someone had sucker punched her in the gut. This was worse, somehow, than seeing Root for the first time after she had come back. Less than a week and Shaw, after carefully bottling up everything for the past year, now found herself drenched in everything that she had ever come to associate with Root.

“I promised I would leave when this was done,” said Root. “So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Okay,” said Shaw dumbly. Words seemed liked something foreign and unfamiliar to her and she couldn’t think what she wanted to say. She didn’t even know if there was anything she wanted to say at all.

“Okay?” said Root, frowning at her before she shook her head. “Is that it?”

“I don’t-” said Shaw, clearing her throat and watching as Root’s lip turned white as she bit down on it hard with her teeth. “It’s for the best,” Shaw added lamely, telling herself it was the truth even as the words left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Exhaling loudly, something between a humourless laugh and exasperation, Root turned on her heel. Shaw didn’t call her back, didn’t try to stop her as she walked down the street, away from the stadium and into the heart of Queens.


	14. Part 1: Chapter 14

_Two days later…_

The library was empty this early in the morning, but Shaw didn’t mind. She liked having the place to herself to rearrange Reese’s gun collection - _seriously, who in their right minds would store a colt pistol next to a grenade launcher?_ \- and cleaning her own weapons and just generally snooping about without the risk of anyone catching her.

She told herself it wasn’t in hope of running into Root, who she hadn’t seen in days and who she wasn’t even sure was still in the country let alone New York.

After returning from Queens, Shaw had went to straight to her place and crashed out, sleeping for a solid fourteen hours and waking up sore and stiff but infinitely better than she had been after she had woken up in the hospital after her overdose. Her knee, still aching and bruised from so much abuse over the years, was probably going to be protesting for a long a time. Shaw was used to it, she could tolerate it and push the pain aside and get on with what she needed to do. Which was nothing, apparently, she found out when she called Finch about three minutes after waking up. No new irrelevant numbers and she didn’t dare call Daniel to ask if the Machine had contacted him about any relevant ones. She doubted the Machine would anyway. Daniel was in no fit state to deal with any numbers, that was plain as day for anyone to see.

So she had time to kill and Shaw spent it soaking her knee in ice and tending to her injuries after her fight with Greer and rewarding herself with the biggest steak she could find. It was tender and moist and she ate it straight from her combat knife, sitting on the couch with a beer on the coffee table and some boring documentary on the TV that she wasn’t really paying any attention to. Concentrating on eating was a short reprieve from the thoughts swirling around in her head that she couldn’t seem to get away from.

They followed her now to the library which seemed to echo with so many memories from the past few days. Shaw wasn’t sure if she could ever look at the place again without thinking of it as a prison and she wasn’t sure how Finch could stand it day after day.

The sound of floorboards creaking behind her alerted Shaw to someone else’s presence. Still on edge from the past week, she quickly aimed the gun she had just finished cleaning in the direction of the sound.

“It’s just me, Shaw,” said Daniel, moving out of the shadows. Light from the window cast abstract shadows across his face, making him look sunken and gaunt. He hadn’t shaved in days, the hair on his face growing beyond stubble, something thicker and coarse. His bloodshot eyes betrayed his lack of sleep or maybe he had just taken to chasing the bottom of a bottle to help forget the feel of his finger squeezing the trigger, the noise of the gun going off and the sight of Jason lying bleeding on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Shaw asked, lowering the gun.

Daniel shrugged, watching as she began to put away the cleaning supplies. “You weren’t at your place,” he said. “Figured you would be here.”

Shaw said nothing, almost stubborn in way the she put the cleaning things away, followed lastly by Reese’s gun and never once looking at Daniel. She had nothing to say to him and could tell by the way he lingered that he was building up his courage to say something to her.

With everything eventually put away, Shaw had no choice but to face him.

“So,” he started, shoving his hands in his pocket and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I kind of pointed a gun at you.”

“Yeah,” Shaw agreed. “You did.”

He looked like he expected her to say something more, almost like he was seeking for her to justify his actions for him.

“Are we okay?” he asked.

Shaw sighed tiredly. “I don’t know, Daniel. You tell me.” He glanced at her like he was unsure what he was supposed to say, if he was supposed to say anything at all and Shaw herself didn’t even know what she was looking for. Any apologies would just sound false and weak to her ears.

Because they weren’t okay.

Shaw wasn’t sure they ever would be again. She still trusted him, could forgive him for pointing a gun at her. It wasn’t like he had it in him to shoot her anyway, he could barely shoot Jason. No… it was him that was the problem. Shaw could see it in the way he ducked his head, carefully avoided her eyes. He felt ashamed of himself and Shaw knew it would be a long time before he could ever trust himself again.

She wondered where that left them. If they could ever go back to that dynamic they once had were the trust was implicit.

“Look, Shaw, I-”

“Daniel,” said Shaw, her voice low with warning. She didn’t want to do this now. Her knee was aching, she was tired and hungry and she swore to god - or whatever all-seeing AI was watching - if he fucking started crying…

Instead of tumbling over an apology, Daniel just smiled sadly. Maybe knowing too that they could never go back to that easy partnership. At least not anytime soon.

“What are you doing up so early anyway?” she asked, idly fingering one of the dusty old hardbacks on the shelf. _Principles of Economics._ Its spine looked in perfect condition. Shaw wasn’t surprised. Who the hell would want to read about economics anyway?

Daniel shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m meeting Root later anyway so I figured I may as well just get up.”

“Root?” said Shaw before she could stop the name from leaving her mouth. She pulled a book off the shelf, feigning disinterest. _A Complete Catalogue and History of Oil and Kerosene Lamps._ What the fuck was this library? No wonder it was abandoned.

“Yeah,” said Daniel, a slight lightness to his tone that told Shaw he knew exactly what she was doing. “She’s catching a flight this afternoon. We’re meeting for coffee before she goes.”

“Oh,” said Shaw, her voice not as indifferent as she would like.

“You should come,” Daniel suggested.

“No,” said Shaw hastily and began flicking through the pages, everything a blurry haze.

“Your book’s upside down,” said Daniel.

Shaw scowled, eyes focusing on the words and realising that they were, indeed, upside down. “I know that,” she snapped. “It’s just better this way.” _Well, that was lame_ , she thought and quickly shoved the book back on the shelf.

“Shaw,” said Daniel seriously. “She’s trying.”

“Don’t,” Shaw warned, shaking her head. She didn’t want to hear it, to complicate things any further than they already were. Root was leaving and it was for the best and Shaw would sleep easier for it.

“You can’t even say goodbye?”

“I can’t,” said Shaw. “Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t,” she added hastily.

“Right,” said Daniel sceptically.

“I really can’t,” said Shaw firmly. “I’m picking up Gen. It’s her birthday weekend, remember?”

“Oh,” said Daniel. “I forgot, what with everything…”

“Yeah,” said Shaw. She had kind of forgotten too until she had received a string of text messages from Gen reminding her that she had _promised_ to pick Gen up herself, that they had _planned this weeks ago and Shaw better not back out now._

“Are you going to tell her?” Daniel asked.

“Tell her what?” said Shaw, knowing perfectly well what he meant.

“That Root is back,” said Daniel.

“What would be the point?” said Shaw. “She’s leaving.” And Shaw would be damned if she put the kid through that again. It was bad enough the first time around. Best to leave things as they were, to not upset Gen again by filling her with hope only for it to be dashed away again.

“I have to go,” Shaw muttered, stepping quickly past him before he could probe about it further.

“We’ll be at that place down the block if you change your mind,” he called to her retreating back.

*

Shaw didn’t mind the drive upstate all that much and on this particular Friday morning the roads were clear. She pressed her foot down, urging the Mercedes she had borrowed from Finch into going ten over the speed limit. She would go faster but the last thing she wanted was to get pulled over and be late picking Gen up.

At the school, Shaw dumped the car in the parking lot and headed inside to the main office. They were expecting her; this wasn’t they first tme she had been sent to sign Gen out for the weekend and she doubted it would be last.

By the time she had finished completing all the appropriate paperwork - grumbling under her breath about all the goddamn forms she had to sign - Gen was waiting for her in the foyer of the front entrance. At her feet was a small suitcase that Shaw frowned at as she approached.

“You’re only staying for three days,” she said. “What have you go in that thing?”

Gen grinned and pulled the handle up to wheel the suitcase out to the car. “Nothing yet. But I need room for all my presents.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, swinging the keys in her hand as they walked. “Who says you're getting any presents?”

Grinning at her in that infuriatingly knowing way she had, Gen looked up at her, her fringe falling into her face and covering her eyes. Inexplicably, Shaw had the urge to reach out and brush the hair out of her face, recalling words of wisdom from a grandmother she had met once and never liked about her eyes going squint from straining through her hair to see all the time. Well Sameen’s eyes had never gone squint and that grandmother had died a few months later and Sameen had kept her hair however she pleased.

“Are we still having Khoresh for dinner?” Gen asked as Shaw opened the trunk and lifted the suitcase into it. It was suspiciously heavier than it should have been, but she knew better than to question Gen on it. She would only get a vague answer and a haughty scowl in response.

“Yes,” said Shaw, although she would have to pick up most of the ingredients on the way home. “Do you want to put your backpack in the trunk?”

“Nope,” said Gen, shaking her head. “I’ll keep it.” She slung it from her shoulders and got into the passenger seat, the backpack bulging as she tried to shove it down at her feet. No doubt it was filled with comic books she would never find the time to read over the weekend.

The drive back to the city was relatively uneventful. Gen chatted away, needing no prompting whatsoever from Shaw to gush about school, her friends and how she was doing in all of her classes. Shaw listened with half an ear, grunting every now and then in acknowledgement. The only thing she paid any attention to was Gen’s test scores; which she already knew but was curious to see if the kid would try to lie about it and was pleased when she didn’t.

By the time they made it back to the city, it was nearing lunchtime. Shaw was hungry, the bowl of dry cereal she’d had that morning (she hadn’t bothered to do any grocery shopping since coming back and didn’t have any milk) had long been digested now, leaving her stomach empty and protesting. Shaw suggested the name of a diner that wasn’t too far from her place and Gen readily agreed, hauling her backpack inside with her when they arrived.

Shaw ordered herself a double helping of pancakes - they were the best in the city, regardless of the time of day - and frowned when Gen followed suit.

“That school feeds you properly, right?”

Gen rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said haughtily, slurping at her chocolate milkshake when it arrived. Shaw stared down at coffee, realising that caffeine was the last thing she wanted right now and ended up swirling it about in the cup as Gen prattled on.

Staring at the black whirlwind, Shaw let her thoughts swim. Her conversation with Daniel was still fresh in her mind, bothering her more than she would like. She hadn’t expected Root to stick around for so long in the wake of Jason’s death and she couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or indifferent to it. Or, rather, which she would prefer to be. Both options created the distance she wanted, in a way, a distance that would soon be real as soon as Root stepped on that plane, going wherever it was she was intending to go, or wherever the Machine was planning on sending her next.

Some of the coffee sloshed over the sides of the cup. Still hot, it stung when it hit her hand and she hissed, grabbing a bunch of napkins from the dispenser to quickly mop it up.

“What?” she said, glancing up to find Gen staring at her pointedly.

“I just told you every piece of gossip from the last month about the girls in my dorm and you never sneered once,” said Gen. Shaw shrugged, averting her eyes as she finished cleaning up the last of the spilt coffee. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes,” Shaw said quickly and when Gen huffed and folded her arms snidely she rolled her eyes. “Okay fine, I wasn’t listening.”

“It’s because Root’s back, isn’t it?”

“W-what?” said Shaw, knocking her coffee over for the second time. Gen scowled and helped her mop it up. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m not stupid,” said Gen. “Harold called on Monday and said he might have to cancel my birthday weekend. I figured that was why.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” said Shaw with narrowed eyes, not buying her story for a second.

“Okay fine,” said Gen conceitedly. “I put a bug in Harold’s office.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, like this was something all twelve year olds did on a regular basis.

Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose, already anticipating an extremely long weekend. “Gen,” she said slowly. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” said Gen. “That Root came back.”

Sighing, Shaw wasn’t sure what to say. No, she wasn’t planning on telling Gen that Root was back. But she didn’t think Gen would understand that Shaw was keeping the truth from her for her own good. That she didn’t want to see Gen get upset after Root ultimately left again and broke her heart. Gen had been inconsolable the first time and Shaw wasn’t willing to find out what she would be like the second time around.

Instead of getting angry and upset that she had been lied to like Shaw was expecting, Gen just smiled sadly and lifted her backpack up from the floor and placing it on her knees to rummage around inside of it. Shaw frowned, watching as Gen dumped a handful of envelopes on the table in front of her.

“What the hell are these?” Shaw asked.

“Letters,” Gen explained, placing her bag back on the floor. “From Root.”

Shaw picked up one of the envelopes; Genrika Zhirova written on the front and her dorm address in a messy script that could only be Root’s. The postage stamp was from somewhere in Italy.

“How many?” Shaw asked, her voice low and clipped. She realised she was clutching the letter so tightly the paper was creasing and loosened her grip.

Gen shrugged, gesturing for Shaw to look at the letter within. Shaw did, if only to give her hands something to do. It was a single sheet, quickly scribbled on paper from some hotel, it’s logo in royal blue at the top of the page. Squinting at the words, Shaw frowned, seeing nothing but gibberish and certainly no language she recognised.

“It took me for ever to work out the code,” said Gen, unfolding a separate piece of paper that had her own handwriting on it. Shaw thought it must be some sort of cheat sheet. “Even longer to figure out how to write back and where to send it to.”

“Gen…” said Shaw, staring down at Root’s words incomprehensibly. “Why did you never tell me about this?”

“Because,” said Gen quietly as Shaw began to sift through some of the other letters. “You were so _angry_ all the time.”

Saying nothing, Shaw stared down at the letters in her hands. Still the same messy handwriting, but all the postmarks were different. More from Europe. One or two from South America, even one from the Middle East. Root had been all over the world, it seemed, on her quest to find Jason and not once had she ever bothered to contact Shaw, to explain herself.

No, that wasn’t true. There was a phone call once. In the middle of the night. Shaw had been sure it was Root then, just as she was sure now. That had been about two months after Root had left and Shaw wondered if she had already started sending letters to Gen by then.

She couldn’t tell what she was feeling, but she knew there was something there, far down below. Anger or jealousy or maybe something else, she couldn’t be sure.

“I wouldn’t have been angry at you,” Shaw said eventually.

“I know that,” said Gen quickly, gathering up her letters and quickly shoving them back in her bag.

“What…” Shaw began. “What did they say?”

Gen shrugged. “At first she just wanted me to understand.”

“Right,” said Shaw.

“And then I guess… she just needed someone to talk to.”

“And that someone was you?” said Shaw with more bite than she had intended.

Gen just stared at her, biting her lip. And Shaw knew what she was about to say next, where their entire conversation was leading to.

“Can I see her?”

“Gen,” said Shaw.

“Please,” Gen added hurriedly. “I just want to-”

“She’s leaving,” said Shaw firmly. “Today.”

That shut Gen up. She leant back in her seat, staring at the table, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Shaw glanced away, hating Root for doing this. For walking away in the first place, for sending Gen letters all this time, instilling hope in her only for Root to leave again now.

Except… it wasn’t really Root’s fault that Gen had found out she was in New York. Her decision to leave had already been made long before now.

“Can’t I at least say goodbye this time?” Gen asked. Her voice was so small and so soft that Shaw could barely bear to hear it. She glanced out the window, watching the world go by. The buses and cars, and all the people walking down the New York streets, none the wiser to the chaos that had gone on this past week.

“What about your pancakes?” said Shaw, turning back to face Gen and finding her frowning in confusion before comprehension dawned brightly on her face.

Gen grinned. “We’ll get them to go. I prefer them cold anyway.”

*

“Sorry I’m late,” said Root, slipping into the chair opposite Daniel and politely ignoring the way that he jumped at her abrupt appearance.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Tea please,” said Root, watching as he got out of his seat and headed over to the barista, his movements slow and careful, the air of a man who hadn’t slept much, if at all, in the past few days. Root knew exactly how he felt and he seemed to realise it too when he sat back down, placing a pot of steaming tea in front of her. She left it to stew for a few minutes, clasping her hands together tightly in her lap as Daniel averted his eyes. “How have you been?” she asked. “Since…”

“I committed murder?” Daniel said scathingly.

“Daniel,” said Root, biting her lip. Murder wasn’t the word she would have chosen. Justice, maybe even vengeance, but certainly not murder. Daniel swallowed and shook his head. For something to do, Root poured her tea; her hands shaking so bad Daniel had to hold a hand over hers to steady the pot. Smiling shyly in thanks, Root put the pot back down and sipped at her tea. It was bitter and hot and she had half a mind to add some sugar to it to sweeten the taste.

“How do you live with it?” said Daniel, staring down at the mug in her hands. “How does it stop haunting you?”

“It doesn’t,” Root whispered. Every night, when she closed her eyes, she could see every last one of them. Every person she had killed, every death she had caused, all of them sat in her chest, heavy and tight like a weight tying her down and reminding her of all she used to be. “I can’t tell you it will get easier, Daniel.”

For her it had gotten worse. So much worse. She hadn’t cared back then, about who she was killing. The Machine had changed all that, taught her to care, to serve penance for all she had done.

“Is that why you’re leaving?” Daniel asked.

Root smiled sadly, sipping at her tea thoughtfully. “There’s nothing left for me here, Daniel.”

“There’s me,” he said, smiling at her when she glanced up at him in surprise. “For what it’s worth.”

Root leaned over, gripping his hand in hers and squeezing tightly. The human contact was strange to her after so long. She had forgotten how warm it could be. “That means… a lot,” she said honestly. She would miss him, she realised. More than she had ever expected.

“Where is She sending you?” Daniel asked, when Root released his hand and leaned back in her seat.

“She isn’t,” said Root sadly. The Machine had said nothing to her since Citi Field and mostly Root was just glad.

Daniel stared at her. “So where are you going?”

Root shrugged. “Somewhere warm. I’ll decide when I get to the airport, I guess.” She had no real plan. It was kind of scary. Root always had a plan, a path mapped out for herself. Her next job, her next mission for the Machine… without that, with this newfound freedom, Root wasn’t sure she liked it all that much.

“Somewhere warm?” said Daniel, smiling wistfully. “Sounds nice.”

It sounded nice, but Root wasn’t sure how warm it would be on her own.

“I should go,” she said, leaving most of her cooling tea undrunk.

“Okay,” said Daniel, climbing to his feet as Root pulled her jacket back on. “Do you need a ride?”

Root paused, glancing at him for a moment, trying to assess if the offer was genuine or if he was just being polite. But he looked just like she felt, like the loneliness was closing in, suffocating in its aggressiveness.

“I’d like that,” said Root, smiling sadly at the look of overwhelming relief that crossed Daniel’s face.

Outside, the temperature was mild, but Root still shivered, following Daniel to his car and frowning when he stopped suddenly.

“Are you sure you won’t stay?” he asked.

“Daniel,” said Root, too tired to explain herself again. She didn’t want to think about it either, how much she had given up and lost. “I told you, there’s no reason for me to stay.”

“Are you sure about that?” said Daniel, nodding at something over her left shoulder.

Root frowned, but glanced behind her anyway, spotting a flash of blonde curly hair, darker than she remembered. “Oh,” Root breathed out, suddenly feeling her throat tightening and her eyes stinging.

“Root!” Gen called, running towards her with the biggest smile on her face that Root had ever seen.

“Hey,” Root said, dropping to her knees as Gen wrapped her arms around her waist. Root tugged her close, feeling warmth swell in her chest, not unpleasant in its intensity. She spied Shaw hovering behind Gen, glowering as she stood with her arms crossed. But Root didn’t believe for one second that this meeting was by chance and she didn’t know how she could ever express her gratitude. “Look how big you’ve gotten.” Gen had gained at least six inches since the last time Root had seen her.

“I know,” said Gen, pulling away slightly and letting Root climb back to her feet. “I’ll be taller than Shaw soon. Although,” she added. “That won’t exactly be hard.”

Behind Root, Daniel snorted, quickly covering it up with a cough at the sight of the glare Shaw sent his way.

“I guess not,” said Root fondly, brushing the hair out of Gen’s face and tucking it behind her ear.

“Did you remember it’s my birthday tomorrow?” Gen said.

Root faltered for a moment. No, she hadn’t remembered. So much had happened in the last week that keeping track of the date was the last thing on her mind.

“It’s okay if you forgot,” said Gen, words tumbling out of her mouth so fast that Root could barely keep up. “We’re going to Coney Island tomorrow and then my party that I’m not supposed to know about. And Shaw’s making lamb Khoresh for dinner and you have to come. Can you come?”

“Gen…” said Root slowly, eyes darting to Shaw, unsurprised to find her looking completely unhappy about this request. In fact, she looked downright furious. “I can’t, kiddo. I’m sorry. I have to catch a flight-”

“There’ll be other flights,” said Daniel. Root glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was having some sort of silent conversation - more like argument - with Shaw.

“But,” Gen began, glancing at Shaw and scowling. “Please?” she said, speaking to the both of them.

Something like a growl escaped Shaw’s mouth before she sighed. “Fine, but Daniel’s coming too.”

“I am?” said Daniel, almost cowering under the look Shaw gave him. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” said Gen, turning on her heel and heading back up the street. “See you later.”

“Woah,” said Shaw, grabbing her by the backpack and pulling her back. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, glaring at Gen pointedly.

Gen huffed. “Fine,” she said as Shaw pushed her in the direction of the library. Root glanced at Daniel, but he just shrugged her shoulders, as clueless as she was as they followed the other two inside and up the stairs into Harold’s office.

“Ms. Zhirova,” said Harold in surprise, standing hastily.

“Which one?” said Shaw tightly, still holding onto Gen by her backpack. Gen scowled defiantly for a moment before finally sighing.

“Hemingway’s _The Old Man and the Sea_ ,” she said sullenly.

Shaw let her go, moving to the bookshelf Gen pointed to and pulling a book from it. Sitting on top of it, was a small black disk that could only be a wireless listening device. “What have I told you?” Shaw snapped. Gen just shrugged.

“What…” said Harold. “How did-” He held up a hand, cutting himself off. “Actually, I’d rather not know. Is that the only one?” he asked sternly, towering over Gen. She stared up at him, trying to keep her expression neutral, but Root could see the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Yes,” she said, a little too innocently.

“He doesn’t mean just the library,” Shaw clarified.

“Oh,” said Gen. “Well, then no.”

Root, unable to stop herself, let out a light chuckle.

*

It was with a considerable degree of nervousness that Root rapped her knuckles against Shaw’s apartment door. It seemed to take forever for the door to open and Root shifted from foot to foot, thinking that this whole thing was a bad idea and she should just leave before it got any worse. But then she remembered the look on Gen’s face when she had agreed to come, how happy and innocent and _accepting_ she had looked and couldn’t force her feet to carry her away.

Eventually, Root heard the sound of the bolt being unlocked, the chain coming loose and the door opened to reveal Sameen Shaw looking decidedly disgruntled.

“Was starting to think you weren’t coming,” she said bluntly, glancing behind Root at the hallway. “Where’s Daniel?”

“He couldn’t make it,” said Root. Probably like Shaw, she was feeling annoyed that their buffer had bailed on them. Daniel had sounded… not right on the phone and she knew this wasn’t just his way of setting them up and forcing them to talk. “I brought wine,” Root added, thrusting the bottle nervously into Shaw’s hands.

Shaw stared at it. “Why?” she asked. “You hate wine.”

Root shrugged. “I dunno… isn’t that what people do when they are invited to dinner?”

“Whatever,” Shaw muttered, stepping back to let Root inside.

The apartment was exactly as how Root remembered and she was surprised that Shaw hadn’t change anything since their time here together. She opened her mouth to say something, but Shaw stormed past her, dumping the wine bottle onto the kitchen counter and went back to making dinner. Root stared at her for a moment, unsure what to do or say and could tell by the way Shaw’s shoulders tensed that she was uncomfortably aware of her presence. In the end, she ended up busying herself with taking off her jacket and laying it neatly across the back of the couch.

Thankfully, Gen appeared as if from nowhere, grabbing Root by the hand and dragging her into her room. The small bedroom was a mess. Everything Gen seemed to own was either on the floor or spilling out of the small suitcase dumped haphazardly onto the bed.

“You’ve been here for about three hours,” Root said in dismay as she glanced around.

Gen glowered at her. “You’re worse than Shaw,” she said, shifting the suitcase onto the floor to make room for them to sit down on the bed. “Do have any idea how many times she’s lectured me on how to properly make my bed?” she complained.

Root smiled, unable to stop the image of Gen hurriedly trying to make her bed as straight as possible with Shaw barking orders in her ear.

“I’m glad you’re here, Root,” said Gen.

“Me too, hon,” said Root, putting an arm around Gen’s shoulders and pulling her close as they both sat with their backs against the wall. “I’ve missed you,” she said, dropping her chin onto the top of Gen’s head and feeling content for the first time in a long time.

Gen was silent for a moment, like she was unsure of how to voice what she wanted to say and all at once, all the guilt Root had been running away from this last year, seemed to slam into her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, burying her face into Gen’s hair and unable to hold back the sob that threatened.

“I know,” said Gen. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. Root wanted her to be angry, to never want to speak to her again. Because if Gen hated her, then it would be so much easier for Root to leave a second time, to ignore the pull that seemed to tether her here.

“Anyway,” said Root, pulling away and rubbing hurriedly at her eyes. “How are you getting on with school?”

“I hate it,” said Gen and launched into an explanation of exactly _why_ she hated it. Root listened with rapt attention as Gen explained how all the girls in her dorm were back stabbing bitches, how she didn’t fit in with any of them, how the teachers all looked down at her for the way that she talked, the way she slumped in her seat in class. All these little things that Gen had probably bottled up for so long, not daring to tell anyone. Harold would just have gone straight to the highest school authority, more than likely making things worse, and Shaw would have just told her to suck it up and let it go.

“You don’t need any of them, kiddo,” said Root, squeezing her hand tightly.

“I know,” said Gen. “I just wish I could stay here.” Root smiled sadly. She did to. She wished they could both stay here. “Did I mention the uniform _itches_?” Gen added.

Root laughed. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well it does,” Gen complained. “All the time.”

Still smiling, Root kissed Gen softly on the top of her head. “You should probably clean this place up a bit before Shaw sees it.”

“Probably,” Gen agreed and rolled her eyes as she hopped off the bed. Root watched her for a moment as she began gathering things up in her arms, unceremoniously shoving them into her closet out of sight. It wasn’t exactly what Root had meant, but it would do, she thought as she headed back out into the kitchen.

The smell of stewed lamb filled her nostrils, mixed with the scent of herbs and spices that reminded Root of home.

“Need a hand?” Root asked.

Shaw snorted, not even bothering to look up from the stove as she added more spice. “From you? No thanks.”

Leaning back against the counter, Root wondered if that was a dig at her cooking skills - or lack of them rather - or if Shaw just generally didn’t want her to be here.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Root said softly, glancing down at her feet.

“I didn’t,” Shaw pointed out, stirring the contents of the pot on the stove before turning down the heat.

“I know,” said Root, “but thanks anyway.”

Shaw sighed, slamming the wooden spoon down onto the counter and turning around to face Root. Her nostrils flared in irritation but Root had been witness to far more deadly looks on her face. “You sent her letters?”

Root flinched. “I-”

“Why?” Shaw asked, her jaw clenched tightly.

“I needed her to understand,” said Root. “I needed her to know it wasn’t her fault.”

“Right,” said Shaw. “Shame you couldn’t spare me the same courtesy.”

“That’s not-” Root began, but Shaw had turned away from her, back to stirring the stew that Root was pretty sure didn’t need _that_ vigorously stirred. “I called once.”

“Doesn’t count if you don’t say anything,” said Shaw.

Root recalled that day. Freezing and lost, Root barely knew what she had been doing. Calling Shaw had been a mistake that she couldn’t stop herself from making and she found she couldn’t get any of the words that she wanted to say to come out of her mouth. As it turned out, writing it down at four o’clock in the morning on the back of a Jehovah's Witness pamphlet in some crummy motel room had been a lot easier.

Except she had never sent it to Shaw.

Instead she had stepped inside the first store she passed and bought some writing paper and envelopes and wrote four and a half pages in the code she had developed with Hanna when she was eleven, hoping that Gen was smart enough to figure it out on her own.

She had been more than surprised when she received the first letter, written in the same code Root had used. It was with an odd mixture of trepidation and pride that Root had opened it with trembling fingers. She had expected Gen to hate her. To tell Root never to write to her again. But what was in that letter gave her hope. So Root had kept writing and Gen had written back, always sending the letters to the same drop box; a secure location Root had used back when Samaritan was watching everything.

In the long silence of that year, the Machine had made sure that Root always got those letters eventually. Sometimes she would go weeks without any and then would receive ten at once and no matter where she read them; either lying on some crummy hotel bed or huddled for warmth in a bus shelter, they always seemed to the shine a path of the light down on the darkness of that year.

Unlike Gen, Root couldn’t keep the letters, always on the move it was impossible to carry them with her. But every word burned itself into her memory, her only beacon of hope, keeping her going in a search that she thought would never end.

She had kept one though. That first one, secure in her pocket, the paper frayed and worn away from being folded and unfolded so many times as Root read it over and over again on nights that were particularly long and dark.

“I’m-”

“If you say you are sorry one more time,” Shaw threatened and Root quickly shut her mouth. There didn’t seem to be any real malice to Shaw’s tone though. Just indifference as she turned the stove off and gathered up some plates from one of the cupboards. “Just go tell Gen dinner is ready,” she sighed.

“Sure,” said Root and pushed herself off the counter.

Gen was most definitely _not_ tidying her room when Root poked her head through the door, if the comic flying across the room and out of sight was anything to go by. Root raised an eyebrow and Gen sighed in relief when she saw her.

“Oh,” said Gen. “Thank God, I thought you were Shaw.”

Root rolled her eyes, telling Gen that dinner was ready.

They sat at the kitchen counter, like they had so many times before, with Gen next to Root and Shaw opposite them. She expected to be awkward, stilted conversation, and it was at first, with Gen doing most of the talking, Shaw shoving food into her mouth sullenly and scowling every time Root said something. But after a couple of beers, even Shaw started to loosen up a bit and for a couple of hours, it was easy for Root to pretend that everything was okay. That nothing had changed.

It was nearing midnight when Gen finally tired herself out and Shaw sent her to bed, but not before Gen made Root promise to come with them tomorrow to Coney Island. Root had said yes, feeling Shaw’s eyes on her and knowing that she was less than thrilled about the whole thing. Except… despite everything, Root couldn’t bring herself to care. She was tired of this animosity between them, tired of having to explain herself, of trying to make Shaw understand.

“I should go,” said Root. Yet she didn’t move from her seat, watching as Shaw rummaged around in the fridge, searching for another beer. Coming up empty, she settled for the bottle of wine Root had brought.

“Yeah,” said Shaw, pouring herself a large glass, “you should.”

Root stiffened, unable to force herself to move, to run out of there like she really wanted to. Running was easy, but staying here, facing Shaw… that was so much harder. Root climbed to her feet, watching as Shaw drained half the glass before turning around. Their eyes met and the look Shaw gave her, something bordering on contempt, fixed Root in place. Shaw sighed, shaking her head.

“It’s late,” she said. “You may as well stay and sleep on the couch if you’re coming tomorrow.”

“I-” Root began, but Shaw was already moving away from her, leaving Root standing cold and alone in a kitchen she no longer felt at home in. She returned a few minutes later, dumping a blanket and pillow onto the couch. “Thank you,” said Root quietly.

“Would you stop that,” Shaw snapped. “Stop being so goddamn polite all the time.”

“What would you rather I be?” Root asked, watching as Shaw shook her head and bit her lip. She suspected that Shaw knew the answer, but was reluctant to say it out loud. To say it to her or admit it to herself.

Root moved over to the couch, playing with the zipper on her jacket and looking anywhere but at Shaw. It would take her barely ten seconds to slip the jacket on and walk out of here and she couldn’t fathom why she still hadn’t done it, why she was putting herself through this when she had already made her decision to leave. She had promised Shaw, promised all of them really, that she would be going after this whole thing with Jason was over. And yet, here she was, making things hundred times harder for herself.

Shaw moved as if to head back into the kitchen and retrieve her glass of wine. Instead, she stopped in front of Root, staring at her with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I should-” Root begun, but Shaw grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her head down and bringing their lips together in a heated kiss. Root could taste red wine, could feel Shaw’s lips rough, but yet also soft against hers. For Root, it was everything she had ever wanted. All the pain and loss and loneliness from the last year seemed to fall away until it was just her and Shaw and nothing else.

Root’s hands found Shaw’s waist and she let out a moan as she pulled her closer. Underneath her palms, Shaw froze, breaking the kiss abruptly and moving away, stepping back to gain some distance between them.

“Shaw-”

“I can’t do this,” Shaw said, staring past Root and quickly retreating into the bedroom that they had once shared, slamming the door tightly shut behind her.

Eyes pricking uncomfortably, Root sank down into the couch, unable to move. She knew she should leave, but the thought of going out into the cold and empty New York streets unsettled her so much that she found her body trembling with emotions so overwhelming that she thought they would drown her. At some point, when she finally stopped crying, Root kicked her shoes off and pulled the blanket over herself and slept better than she had in so long that she couldn’t remember when she had last had a full night’s rest.


	15. Part 1: Chapter 15

When Shaw woke up at her usual time of six thirty am, it felt like she may as well have not slept at all. She chose not to dwell on what, precisely, had kept her from sleeping properly and instead focused on enjoying what little solitary time she was going to have for the rest of the weekend, spending longer in the shower than was absolutely necessary. In essence, she was also avoiding a certain guest currently asleep on her couch, but the pretence of having time to herself was a good excuse for making her feel less of a coward.

Unsurprisingly, Gen wasn’t up yet. She had already been told she wasn’t getting any presents until her “surprise” birthday party and with the lack of incentive, Shaw had no doubt she would sleep in until lunch if she were allowed to. Which was fine by Shaw. She wasn’t all that fussed about Coney Island. But she had promised Gen and would no doubt never hear the end of it they didn’t go.

Showered, dressed and in desperate need of some coffee, Shaw headed out into the living room, freezing in place when she realised the place was empty. The blanket she had fetched for Root last night was folded up neatly on one of the arms rests, with the pillow underneath. There’s was no sign of Root anywhere, no signs as to where she had gone, if she was coming back.

The memory of a hundred sensations flooded her then; a Taser at her side, Root’s lips soft and gentle against her own. Every touch, kiss and bite that had ever been exchange between them all seemed to echo across her skin.

Shaw shivered.

This was what she wanted... _right_? Root was never meant to stay this long. She was supposed to be somewhere far away, out of their lives for good.

It was what she wanted. Yet, somehow, the sight of that empty couch bothered Shaw more than she was willing to admit.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, staring at a couch that had seen better days, and it wasn’t until there was a knock at the front door that Shaw snapped out of it. Quickly unlocking the bolt, Shaw opened the door to reveal Root standing out in the hallway.

“Sorry, I didn’t have a key,” said Root. She held up a brown paper bag. “I went to get breakfast. As a thank you.”

Shaw stared at her. They stood there like that for a moment; Shaw not moving to let her in and Root not pushing, almost like they were at an impasse, neither of them sure what to do next.

“What?” said Root, frowning at her when Shaw still did not move. “You thought I’d left, didn’t you?” Shaw shrugged, staring past Root at the apartment door across the hall. She would give anything for Mrs McKlutsky and her implacable nosiness right now. “I suppose I deserved that,” said Root, looking down at her feet. “Shaw, I… about last night-”

Shaw looked at her sharply. “Don’t,” she snapped, snatching the bag of food from Root’s hand and heading towards the kitchen, not caring if Root followed. She didn’t want to have this conversation, not now. Not ever. It was a mistake, what had happened last night. Shaw should never have let it happen. She wasn’t even sure _why_ it had happened, what she had been looking for. Part of her had thought that if she pushed hard enough, then maybe Root would stop being this shell of the person she once was. She was so polite, so _timid_ and Shaw couldn’t stand it. That wasn’t the Root she knew. She wasn’t even sure if that Root even existed anymore.

Gen appeared at Shaw’s side as if she had known instinctively that she was about to get fed.

“Surprised you’re up,” Shaw muttered, handing her one of the takeout boxes. Gen grabbed it up with greedy hands, shrugging as she opened the box.

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” said Root, brushing some of the hair out of Gen’s face as she shoved a pancake into her mouth. She mumbled thank you through a mouthful of food until Shaw glared at her and she swallowed it down before repeating the sentiment.

“You’re still coming to Coney Island, right?” Gen asked.

Root smiled sadly as she continued to run her fingers through Gen’s hair and it seemed to Shaw that she was doing it unnecessarily, for her own comfort rather than Gen’s. “I’m not sure, kiddo.”

“But you have to come,” Gen complained. “You promised.”

“I know, but-”

“But what?” said Gen, turning her gaze away from Root to glare at Shaw as if this were all her fault. Shaw didn’t back down from her look; Gen could blame her all she wanted. It didn’t change anything.

“I just…” Root began, looking at a little lost when Gen moved out of her reach. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why?” said Gen, glaring at Shaw again. “Because _she_ thinks so?”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Oh there was definitely no way Gen was going to let this go. Shaw could see a sulky teenager in her foreseeable future and was most definitely not looking forward to it. This wasn’t what she had signed up for. Most of the time, she tolerated - okay fine, _liked_ \- hanging out with Gen. That was, when the kid wasn’t being a pain in the ass and whining all the time. And teaching her some of the spy tricks she had picked up over the years was kind of fun, especially when hiding it from Finch. Okay, so the random listening devices were a bit of a problem and Gen never seemed to know what the term personal boundaries meant, but at least the kid was good at it. She could be great even, one day.

But Gen learning to be a spy, attending one of the top boarding schools in the country… it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Something that Shaw herself couldn’t give. Something that maybe Root could.

Shaw sighed and finally opened one of the takeout boxes. The pancakes and rashers of bacon inside were still warm and smothered in maple syrup. She picked one of the rashers up and bit off the end of it as she looked at Root. “Well, you’re here now,” she began and those words alone seemed to spark life into Gen’s eyes. “You may as well come.”

*

Sunlight burned through the mid-morning clouds, sparkling down onto the ground below, leaving everything bright and pleasant. Shaw hated it and along with the cheerful crowd of families and couples swarming the boardwalk, she was already in a bad mood. Not even Gen’s relentless enthusiasm could rub off on her.

Coney Island itself was even worse; the locals all taking advantage of the fine weather, perhaps the last for a while with fall coming in. Shaw made sure to keep Gen in sight, half tempted to clutch onto the back of her jacket to stop her from running off in excitement and getting lost in the swarm of people. At thirteen, she was as hell bent as ever and, to Shaw, she was just exhausting most of the time.

“Hey, you guys made it!” Gen exclaimed, running on ahead. Shaw clenched her hand into a fist, about to call her back when she spotted Lionel and his kid up ahead. She had forgotten she’d invited them. Fusco was a pain in the ass, but at least with his kid in tow, Gen would be occupied with someone closer to her own age. That left Shaw free to pursue her own interests; which was to sample as much of the food stands as possible in peace.

“Well,” said Lionel, one arm wrapped around Lee’s shoulders. “Shaw said she was paying.”

“No I didn’t.” Shaw scowled.

“May I remind you,” said Lionel through clenched teeth. “ _Atlantic City._ You owe me,”

“Yeah yeah,” said Shaw, gesturing for them to go ahead of her. Gen was already gushing to Lee about which ride to go on first when Root appeared beside her. Shaw stiffened and ignored the questioning look Lionel sent her way.

“Perhaps sugar for breakfast was a bad idea,” Root commented, staring at Gen with a content smile on her face, one that Shaw hadn’t seen for a long time.

Shaw shrugged. “She’ll calm down in an hour or two.” Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking, she thought, as Gen continued to speak more animatedly with ever increasing volume.

“How about the Ferris wheel?” Lee suggested.

Lionel shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so good with heights.”

Shaw snorted. “Afraid, you mean?”

“No,” he said sullenly, grabbing Lee by the shoulder in one determined manoeuvre. “Ferris wheel it is.”

Practically squealing in delight, Gen grabbed onto Root’s hand and dragged her in the direction of the Ferris wheel. Shaw left them to it, heading off to check out the food stalls on her own. Even though she’d had breakfast barely an hour ago, it didn’t hurt to look. Lunch was only a few hours away after all.

Scowling as she made her way through the crowd, Shaw tried to remember where the best food stands were. She had been to Coney Island once before when she was a kid. Her father had been stationed upstate and in the middle of summer, with nothing to do but watch the new recruits drill all day long, Sameen had grown quickly bored. Sameen’s mother, of the belief that a young girl should be kept occupied, had dragged Sameen onto a bus early one morning heading for the city.

The bus had been stuffy and hot, so overcrowded that Sameen had to sit on her mother’s lap. She had hated it; but not as much as she hated Coney Island itself. She was too small to go on any of the bigger rides (even _if_ her mother had been willing to let her) and she spent most of the day following her mother around in sullen silence; unresponsive to all her mother’s attempts at conversation. It was the grouchiest Sameen had ever been and she only cheered up a bit when her mother announced it was time for lunch and bought Sameen the biggest hot dog she had ever seen.

It was also the best she had ever tasted and Sameen had never been able to find one that topped it ever since.

But when she looked for the stand now, it wasn’t in the place that Shaw remembered it to be. Instead she found an old fashioned popcorn cart, selling both sweet and salted. It was a bit of a disappointment, and one that was short lived as she bought herself a medium box of salted popcorn (it was fresh and warm just like popcorn should be when she popped a few into her mouth). It was probably for the best though. Rarely did anything live up to memory and the one of that day was full of long, stuffy bus rides and overwhelming crowds, Sameen’s mother holding on tightly to her hand so she wouldn’t get lost.

It wasn’t quite the same feeling as the surging crowd at a college football game, but perhaps the loudness of the place was almost matched. These days, Shaw preferred just to watch the games on TV. The only downside was missing out on all the food. She wondered if, maybe, one day she could convince Gen to go to a game with her on one of her weekends back in the city and then quickly decided it was a stupid thought. A bad idea that should never come to fruition.

Munching on her popcorn, Shaw walked back towards the Ferris wheel, taking her time and in absolutely no rush to meet back up with the others. If she were being honest, she was starting to regret agreeing to this stupid day out. Actually, she was starting to regret the whole weekend and silently hoped that her phone would starting ringing; the Machine sending her a new number. Things had been quiet the last few days and she doubted her luck was in.

About fifty feet from the Ferris wheel exit, past a row of various game stalls, Shaw plopped herself down on a wooden picnic table; sitting on the table itself with her feet resting on the bench. She received a few disapproving looks from passers-by but Shaw ignored them all as she waited for Gen and the others to get off the ride.

Gen spotted her quickly (in that creepy way that she had, like she knew where Shaw had been all along) and ran towards her, speaking excitedly.

“That was so cool! You could practically see all of Brooklyn from up there.”

“Yeah, cool,” Lionel grunted sceptically, taking a seat on the bench next to Shaw’s feet. He looked a little green around the edges, sweating profusely like he had just done a marathon and not sat on his ass up in the sky.

“You okay there, Lionel?” Shaw asked with a smirk. He glared at her and when Shaw offered him some of her popcorn, shoving the box under his nose, he quickly jumped to his feet and rushed to the nearest trash can to empty his guts.

“Ew,” said Gen, scrunching her nose up. “That’s disgusting.”

Shaw couldn’t agree more. She had expected more from Lionel.

“Hey, Gen,” said Lee, “you wanna go play Skee Ball?”

Gen nodded and quickly followed him towards the building housing various arcade games. Shaw was about to yell at them both for wandering off when she spotted Root following them; but it was the look she caught on Root’s face, looking happy and almost peaceful that made Shaw pause. There was hints of the old Root there, signs that had been absent since her unexpected return. She looked less exhausted too, Shaw thought, less worn away, more calm since that day in the library when Shaw had stopped Jason from… well, Shaw decided she would rather not think about it, what would have happened if she had arrived mere minutes later.

He was dead now, but Shaw knew he would continue to haunt Root for a long time, perhaps he would never really leave her. This short reprieve - and Shaw knew it could only last until Root up and left again - was down to Gen. It was the only conclusion Shaw could come to and it left something hot and bitter in the back of her mouth.

“So how long has Cuckoo Clogs been back?”

Rolling her eyes, Shaw dumped her near empty box of popcorn on the table behind her. “Not long,” she murmured, keeping her eyes cast down at her feet. She didn’t want to see what ever pitying look Lionel had on his face.

“She have something to do with that thing that went down at Citi Field?” Lionel asked, once again taking a seat at her feet.

Shaw shrugged. “Not exactly.”

“Hey, I ain’t fishing for information,” said Lionel innocently. “You know I don’t like to know what you guys _really_ get up to. I got enough problems.”

“Your ex?” said Shaw before she could stop herself. She had gone and done it now. There was no chance she was going to hear the end of Lionel’s domestic drama.

“You know she wasn’t going to let me bring him today?” Lionel started and Shaw prepared herself to tune him out. “I only see him a couple of days a week and the one time I actually _have_ plans, she gets all finicky about it.”

“Finicky?” said Shaw, scowling like the word had left a bad taste in her mouth. Lionel turned to glower at her.

“So... what? I have to listen to your problems but you won’t hear a word of mine?”

“I don’t have problems,” said Shaw, frowning at him. “And even if I did I wouldn’t share them with you.”

The raised, sceptical eyebrow seemed to crawl its way under Shaw’s skin, leaving her itchy.

“You don’t remember, do you?” he said. Whatever scepticism had been in his look had left by the time he spoke, his voice going soft in a way that didn’t suit a man like him. She felt like one of the many victims he must have had to comfort over the years and desperately wanted an interruption of some sort before the urge to run out of there got too strong.

“Remember what?” she asked against her better judgement.

The way Fusco looked at her, Shaw got the impression he was trying to work out whether she was playing dumb.

“Not too long after she left,” said Lionel, “I got a phone call from a guy at some dive bar. _You_ were so drunk you couldn’t even remember where you lived.”

Shaw glanced away. She had vague recollections of that night. It was a few days after she had told Gen that Root had left and probably wasn’t coming back. She had started off light; a few beers as she watched some basketball game on the bar’s widescreen TV. Then she had moved onto heavier stuff. Vodka straight. She must have gone through an entire bottle before the barman cut her off. Not that she could remember much at that point. She _did_ remember hands gripping her upper arms, strong and firm as they guided her out of the bar.

Somehow she ended back at her own place in one piece; left on the couch with a thin blanket and one hell of a hangover in the morning.

Shaw had always thought it had been Reese. She never once brought it up, not even to say thank you and she just assumed that Reese had better sense than to mention it. That it had been Lionel to see her at her worse… she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with that.

“You got a right motor mouth on you after several shots of vodka, let me tell you,” said Lionel, his tone conversational as if they were just reminiscing about last week’s weather.

“Don’t,” said Shaw, her voice low with warning.

Lionel held his hands up in defence. “I’m just saying… she’s got a lot of nerve coming back here after all this time.” He glanced off in the direction of the arcade, almost as if he were talking to himself. Shaw wished that he were. Wished that she was anywhere else but here, with everything laid bare in front of her so that anyone could see. “One thing she does have going for her though,” he added. “She loves that kid.”

Shaw looked at him sharply, finding nothing but truth in his words. A truth she didn’t like to think about. She thought about those letters, piles and piles of them crushed into Gen’s backpack and wondered if that was all of them or if there were more still hidden away somewhere, filled with secrets and tales not for her eyes to see.

She wasn’t even sure if she _wanted_ to know what those letters contained.

“What’s your point, Lionel?”

“My point,” said Lionel, “is if my ex had her way, I would never get to see Lee. And maybe that would be a good thing, I dunno. A few years ago I would have definitely said Lee was better off without me. Now…” he stared off into the distance, like he was thinking about every moment of his son’s life. From the day that he was born, every hockey match he had ever played in, every movie they had watched together. Maybe he was even thinking about that night too, the night HR had gone after Lee, had almost killed his son before Shaw intervened. “Now,” he continued, “I like to think he’s happier with me in his life.” His voice had cracked somewhat, just a little that no one would detect it unless you really knew him. Shaw heard and wondered if it was something she was meant to hear. If she really had the right. But Lionel had always been unexpected with his openness ever since she had saved his kid. It wasn’t often there, and when it was, Shaw usually accompanied it with an eye roll.

Not today though.

“You’re a good father, Lionel,” said Shaw. “But I don’t see how this is in any way the same.”

“Well it’s not exactly different either,” Lionel countered knowingly and Shaw didn’t like to think about the implications behind his words. “Anyway,” he continued, “I’m going to go make sure those two aren’t destroying anything.”

As he stood up to leave, Shaw thought about all he had said. Despite appearances, Lionel was smarter, more perceptive, than anyone ever gave him credit for. It’s what made him a good cop, a good - dare she say it - _friend_. The thinly veiled advice hidden beneath casual reminiscence was not something Shaw could easily ignore. She listened and wasn’t sure she liked what she heard. There was too much truth to what he had said for her liking. But she couldn’t deny that Gen seemed happier, more full of life, these last couple of days and it wasn’t just down to the excitement of her birthday.

The hard truth was, and it was so terribly hard for Shaw to admit (it sat inside of her heavy and burning) but she couldn’t deny that Root’s reappearance had sparked something in Gen that Shaw herself had never been able to achieve. It wasn’t from lack of trying. She _had_ tried, but nothing she did ever seemed to work and in the end, it just left Shaw frustrated and grouchy which was a bad combination when dealing with a twelve year old.

As Lionel stepped into the arcade, Root passed him on her way out. They barely exchanged a glance and it was with some level of hesitancy that Root made her way over to Shaw’s commandeered bench.

“She seems to be having a good time,” said Root, sitting, uninvited and as far away as possible, next to Shaw.

“Yeah,” Shaw muttered, picking at her pants absently as if they were covered in lint.

“Thank you,” Root mumbled, staring down at her hands. “For letting me come.”

Shaw sighed; an angry exhale of breath. “You’re only going to make it harder, you know. When you leave.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Shaw saw Root’s jaw clench. A hint of anger that was so very welcoming compared to the dullness that Root had been displaying for so long.

“Harder for her or for you?” Root snapped. Her words seemed to lash out at Shaw. Maybe they were intended to sting, to gnaw their way through Shaw’s skin and infect her, but all they seemed to achieve was to let lose all the anger and frustration and confusion that had been building up for the past year.

Her voice so low and deadly that even Shaw barely recognised it, she spoke her next words with so much ice that it seemed to freeze the very blood in her veins, seizing her organs until everything hurt.

“I gave you everything.”

“I know,” Root murmured, her own anger escaping her, leaving her voice flat and docile.

“I don’t think you do,” Shaw hissed, quickly climbing to her feet. She needed to get as far away from Root as possible, away from this fake display of a happy family day out that they were attempting. It was all pretend anyway. It always had been. But it didn’t stop the feeling of being punched in the gut when Gen called after her, tears in her voice, as Shaw stormed away.

Somehow, Gen managed to keep up with her, even through the crowd that Shaw tried to lose herself in. The kid had been practicing her tailing technique and never lost sight of Shaw once. Out on the boardwalk and heading towards the parking lot, it was even more difficult to lose her. Shaw maintained her pace, not looking back, not _daring_ to look back in case her resolve faltered.

“Why do you always have to ruin everything?” Gen screamed at her when she finally caught up with Shaw at the car.

“Me?” said Shaw, stopping in her tracks and whirling around. Tears were streaming down Gen’s cheeks, her face red and chest heaving from having to run to catch up. “She’s the one that left,” Shaw snapped.

“And she’s only going to go away again if you don’t quit being an ass about it.”

Shaw clenched her teeth and looked away. _Of course_ it was her fault. It was _always_ her fucking fault. The sudden desperation to read every single one of those letters Root had sent took hold. Root may have wanted Gen to know that it wasn’t her fault, that Root hadn’t left because of her, but it seemed the blame had been passed on elsewhere. Shaw had suspected it for a while. Gen wasn’t exactly subtle about it, but Shaw could see some part of her had always blamed Shaw for Root leaving.

“Look, just…” Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to quench the flood of anger she was so tempted to unleash. “Go enjoy the rest of your day. I’ll see you at your stupid party later.”

She expected Gen to start screaming again, to do something stupid like stand in front of the car so Shaw couldn’t leave. Instead, she just stood there, looking so _lost_ that Shaw wanted to grab her by the arm and take her home and pretend none of this had ever happened.

When she pulled out of the lot, Shaw had to force herself not to look back in the rear view mirror.

*

For about half a second, Root considered following.

But she had seen the anger in Shaw’s eyes, a blackness so deep and consuming she doubted her presence would do nothing to brighten it. She had been the cause of it after all.

It didn’t stop the urge to go after Gen, to tug her back and hold her close and never let go. Root had seen the anguish in her young eyes as she had watched Shaw walk away, making the split second decision to go after her. Root couldn’t be sure what she was trying to achieve; with Shaw in a mood like that, Root knew from experience that it was very hard to talk her down. Oh, Shaw could see reason and logic eventually - readily even - but it was like pulling teeth trying to get her to admit it.

Instead, Root stood hovering at the entrance to Coney Island, watching in the direction of the parking lot, wondering if either of them would come back. Or if this was the last she would see of Gen, the last words she would speak to Shaw, before she left for good. She realised then, that this wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to leave things like this, so messy and murky.

Fixing things between her and Shaw seemed like a lost cause, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Gen being caught in the middle, of having to take sides whether she wanted to or not. And she didn’t want Gen to blame one of them either. Because there had been anger in her eyes too as she went after Shaw. Anger that didn’t belong in the eyes of a thirteen year old girl.

Except it was sadness that seemed to hover over Gen like a cloud as she trundled back, head downcast and shoulders hunched.

There was no sign of Shaw.

“You okay, sweetie?” Root asked, fingers automatically threading their way through blonde curls. Gen nodded and looked up at Root with fierce determination in her eyes that took Root aback slightly.

“I’ve decided what I want you to give me for my birthday,” said Gen.

Root raised one intrigued eyebrow, letting her hand fall to the side as Gen stepped away from her to lean against the fence surrounding Coney Island. It bent against her weight but held fast and Gen folded her arms, staring off somewhere in the distance.

“Oh?” said Root, but she thought she might know where this was going. Shaw had been right, it _was_ so much harder.

“I want you to stay.”

“Gen-”

“If you want her back,” said Gen hurriedly, “if you want things back to the way they were before, then you have to prove it.”

There was a burning hope to her voice, the blindness and purity of it that could only come from youth. Root didn’t think she had any hope left when she was Gen’s age. If she had any at all to begin with.

“You do want her back, don’t you?” Gen asked hesitantly when Root remained silent.

“I don’t…” Root began. The truth was, she wasn’t sure _what_ she wanted anymore. She felt lost at sea, floundering in her attempts not to drown. The only thing that stopped her from being washed away the last few days was her single goal of knowing she had to go. She hadn’t picked a destination, didn’t know where she would end up or what she would do. But it was something _to_ do, something she could focus on, something that could keep her occupied and away from the dark thoughts and painful memories that haunted her for most hours of the day.

“Then stay for me,” said Gen softly. She sounded so small then, far younger than her thirteen years. Root wanted to reach out to her, but thought she might break if she did.

“I-” Root choked.

“At least think about it,” said Gen, rubbing at her watery eyes and pushing herself from the fence.

“Okay,” said Root, inhaling shakily. “I’ll think about it.”

Gen smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was no lightness in her step anymore as they headed back inside to find Fusco and Lee. Not even the thrill of the Cyclone rollercoaster cheered her up.

*

_Thump_.

Shaw’s handwrapped fist hit the bag with enough force to pull it off its chain.

_Thump_.

Hard enough to bleed if she weren’t careful, but she didn’t care.

_Thump_.

She wanted to hurt. Wanted the physical manifestation.

_Thump_.

At least that way she knew it was real.

“What did that bag ever do to you?” asked a husky voice, so unexpected in the silence of the gym that Shaw lost her footing, her fist going wild and only grazing the bag.

Shaw turned and glared, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Distracted?” Reese asked, his lips quirking into a smirk.

“No,” said Shaw sullenly. She had an insult hot on her lips, but was far too exhausted to get into it with him right now. “What are you doing here?”

Reese shrugged and glanced around the dilapidated gym. They had salvaged it from an old number; Harold paying significantly over the asking price for it. The equipment was decent, the showers had a healthy supply of hot water, but the most appealing thing about it was that it was just theirs. No random civilians to get in her way as she blew off some steam with a punching bag, no sleazy dudes offering to spot for her. She preferred the solitariness of it or, occasionally, Reese’s quiet company.

Today the solitariness was welcomed. Reese, unfortunately, looked like he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Dropping these off,” he eventually said, holding up the bags in his hands that Shaw hadn’t noticed he was carrying. “Your birthday present for Gen.”

“I already got her something,” said Shaw, turning back to her bag.

Reese dropped the presents at his feet and moved around to the other side of the bag, holding it firmly in place so it wouldn’t go wild when she hit it so hard.

“Well,” he said grunting slightly from the impact of Shaw’s fist. She smirked at him, eyes daring him to quit, but he didn’t move. “These ones are Finch approved. Give her your one later.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. You would think that after all this time, Harold would loosen up a bit. But evidently not.

“You _are_ still coming to the party, right?” Reese asked. “Zoe made a cake.”

Shaw froze mid punch. “Zoe _made_ the cake?”

“Okay, fine,” said Reese. “She’s picking it up from that place downtown, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Shaw asked, throwing another punch and enjoying the way pain radiated up her wrist from the impact. Reese frowned at her, no doubt worrying about her doing herself some serious injury. It just made her punch all the more harder.

“That you better not bail,” said Reese. “We’ve been planning this thing for weeks.”

“We?” said Shaw sceptically. “What did you plan?”

Reese shrugged awkwardly. “Nothing,” he said evasively. “But I brought Harold’s tea as _he_ planned. Besides,” he added, gesturing towards the bags of presents, “I got those, didn’t I?”

“I’m not going to bail,” said Shaw, straightening her shoulders and taking a step back. “ _Really_ ,” she said in response to Reese’s raised eyebrow.

“Oh really?” said Reese. “So why aren’t you at Coney Island right now?”

Shaw stiffened. She had wondered how Reese and known where to find her and wondered just what, exactly, Lionel had said to him. That was definitely the last time she ever invited him to anything if he was just going to blab.

Shaw shook her head and it was as simple as that to clear the annoyance away. Even the anger had left her by now, leaving her empty and quiet, just how she liked. Just how she was used to. “I’ll be at the party,” she promised.

“Good,” said Reese and gestured for her to take another punch. It wasn’t until after his next question that she realised he wanted her distracted. “You want to tell me what really happened with Greenfield?”

This time, Shaw didn’t pause or lose her footing, her punch going where she aimed. Perhaps with just a tad more force than she had initially intended.

“There’s nothing to tell,” said Shaw.

“Right,” said Reese doubtfully. “I saw the body, Shaw. Chest wound, close range.”

Sighing, Shaw dropped her hands to the sides. “What do you want me to say?”

“Was it you?” Reese asked, letting go of the bag and watching her carefully. She avoided his gaze, unwrapping the handwraps from her hands. Underneath, her knuckles were raw and sore from abuse, the sting not unpleasant.

“No,” said Shaw eventually. Quietly.

“Daniel’s not a killer,” said Reese. “He’s not like us.”

“No,” Shaw agreed. He wasn’t. Where she could walk away from a kill without giving it a second thought, where Reese carried all of his around with him and had learned to accept it, be at peace with himself, Daniel would let this haunt him for the rest of his life.

It was always worse when it was someone you knew.

“He’ll get over it,” Shaw said unconvincingly, unsure of who she was trying to fool.

*

Shaw hadn’t bothered to look and see what Reese had meant by “Finch approved” presents, so it was with some degree of amusement that she watched Gen open her first one, then her second, her face growing ever more disappointed and pouty.

“Harriet the Spy?” said Gen, unimpressed as she stared down at the book in her lap.

On the couch across from her, Reese shrugged nonchalantly, but Shaw could tell he was pleased with himself.

“How appropriate,” said Harold, leaning over Gen’s shoulder to get a better look. Gen scowled and opened her mouth to say something and Shaw quickly shoved another present into her hands to shut her up.

This one she unwrapped with less enthusiasm as the first one, revealing another book. This one a Nancy Drew novel entitled _Stalk, Don't Run._

“Well they do say reading broadens the mind,” said Harold as Gen continued to glare.

Shaw snorted as Harold disappeared into the kitchen to refill Zoe’s drink.

Considering she had been dreading this party for several reasons, the first being the very significant chance of Root making an appearance (thankfully, she was spared; Fusco muttering in her ear when he brought Gen over to the safe house that Root had said it was “probably for the best” that she didn’t come) she was finding that she was enjoying herself quite a bit. So was Reese apparently as he snickered at Gen’s expense, undeterred when Zoe mocked him for his knowledge of young girl’s literature.

“Okay,” said Gen haughtily as soon as Harold was out of earshot. “Where are my real presents?”

Shaw shushed her, glancing in the direction of the kitchen to make sure Harold wasn’t anywhere in sight. “You’ll get them later.”

Gen huffed but didn’t protest any further, opening the rest of her presents like it was as mundane a chore as taking out the trash. By the time she got to her present from Lee and Fusco, she cheered up a bit, unwrapping the comic book with abject delight.

The rest of the evening did not go by unpleasantly and was mostly spent eating food from Gen’s favourite takeout place and then it was time to blow out the candles on the biggest chocolate cake Shaw had seen in a long time. Harold, determined to do the birthday party thing properly, insisted they all sing _Happy Birthday_ and Shaw cringed her way through Reese’s rasping tones and Lionel’s bellowing rendition. Lee, she noted, changed the words slightly, singing merrily, “Happy birthday to you, your name is now Nancy Drew!” with the biggest grin on his face that he could manage, only growing wider as Gen glowered at him in annoyance before blowing out her candles.

After Harold insisted that Lee and Lionel take some of the cake home, Shaw gathered up the remainder and Gen’s “presents” and took her home. She was quiet in the car, making Shaw think the day had finally exhausted her, but as soon as they stepped into Shaw’s apartment she perked up, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation of her real birthday presents.

Shaw rolled her eyes, dumping the cake on the kitchen counter and the bags of presents on the floor and gestured for Gen to follow her into her room. Underneath the bed was a box where Shaw had hid all of Gen’s presents. Frankly, she was surprised the kid hadn’t found them already and, if she had, they were at least all still wrapped.

“Awesome,” said Gen, sitting cross-legged on the floor and pulling the first one out onto her lap.

“Hey, Gen,” Shaw said before had even started tearing the sellotape away. “Do you mind if I…”

Gen looked up at her with a frown. “What?”

“Could I maybe… look at some of those letters?” Shaw asked. “The ones Root sent you,” she added, as if Gen had been corresponding with more than one penpal this past year.

“Oh,” said Gen. “If you want. Hang on.” She jumped to her feet, disappearing off to her room before Shaw could change her mind and stop her. She didn’t know why she suddenly had this burning to need to find out what Root had been saying to Gen all this time. But ever since she had left Gen standing alone in the parking lot at Coney Island, she had to know for herself and when Gen shoved a bunch of envelopes in her hand, Shaw told herself she couldn’t back out now.

Which was how she found herself sitting on her bed, surrounded by letters covered in Root’s messy script, with Gen’s cheat sheet on her lap. The code itself wasn’t anything too difficult and it didn’t take long for Shaw to have it memorised, no longer in need of the cheat sheet to help her read the letters.

The letters themselves varied in length. Sometimes Root would go on and on for pages, telling Gen all about the country she was currently in or how much she wished Gen could be there with her. Some were short, just a simple sentence of _Sorry, I’m okay_ which looked like it had been written hastily before Root could get time to send her something longer.

Gen had handed them to her in no particular order and Shaw found herself sifting through them until she found the oldest, glancing at countless postmarks from numerous countries and wondering how Root hadn’t exhausted herself with all that globe hopping. She eventually found the one she was looking for, with the earliest date. The first letter Root had sent.

Shaw unfolded the letter with unsure fingers, uncertain what she would find inside.

_Hey kiddo,_

_I don’t know if you will even keep reading this beyond the first line, or if you’re reading it at all. You’re a smart kid and I’m sure this simple but effective code won’t have you stumped for long, just like it won’t take you long to work out who this is from._

_I just need you to understand, kiddo and I’m not sure what they’ll say, if they’ll keep the truth from you. Why I left doesn’t really matter anyway, just know that I didn’t have much choice in the matter. You’ve all been hurt because of me too many times already, especially you, kiddo and I’m so very sorry for that. I’m sorry you got caught up in my mess, that I couldn’t protect you then. But I hope I can do that now. This thing that I’m doing, it’s to keep you safe. All of you._

_I know it doesn’t look like that right now, that you are probably angry and hurt and blaming yourself. Please don’t. Please don’t ever blame yourself for the things that have done. That’s all on me._

_I’ve done a lot of things over the years that I’m not proud of. Things I can never make up for. I can only try, I guess. I can try to be a better person for you. I want to be a better person for you._

_I love you, kiddo. Try to remember that when you’re stuck up in that school, okay? Don’t let any of them get you down. Not ever._

_~R._

 

Shaw finished reading the letter and swallowed, eyes staring blearily at the postscript underneath. Some address for a drop box in the Midwest.

There was a big gap between this first letter and the next one and Shaw didn’t know if it was because Gen had taken so long to break the code and write back, or if the responding letter had just taken so long to reach Root. But there was no pattern of regularity to the letters. Root seemed to have just written when she could.

“Oh cool!” Gen exclaimed, startling Shaw from her thoughts. She looked up to find Gen swinging her birthday present through the air. Light from the bedside lamp glinted off the polished surface of the Samurai sword and Shaw had to duck as it came dangerously close to her head.

“Hey, watch it,” she complained, scowling when Gen shrugged sheepishly and brought it closer to her face to examine it in the dim light.

“Did you get it in Japan?” Gen asked.

Shaw nodded. Another relevant number had sent her and Daniel to Tokyo a couple of months ago. When the mission – relatively simple and dull in Shaw’s opinion – was over, they had spent a couple of days of down time exploring the city.  Shaw had spotted the sword in a shop window, remembering the anime comics Gen had gotten into recently and the main character that wielded a Samurai sword.

It wasn’t exactly a conventional present for a thirteen year old, but Shaw had thought Gen would like it. Evidently she had not been wrong.

“I love it, thank you,” Gen squealed, rushing over to her to wrap one arm around her in a hug. Shaw grunted, leaning away slightly from the pointy end of the sword. She was just starting to get hotly uncomfortable when Gen released her to go open the rest of her presents. A ninja star from Daniel and a purple Taser from John and Zoe. Shaw went back to looking through the letters, searching for the next one Root must have sent, determined to read them in chronological order.

But it was the one postmarked from Moscow, Russia that caught her attention.

Although Shaw had no idea what the letter was in reply to, she got the gist from Root’s response that Gen had once asked Root if she were ever in Russia, could she pay her mother a visit.

Root had been blunt in her honesty. Gen’s mother didn’t want to see or speak to her. She didn’t even want to hear about Gen’s life in New York. Evidently, Root’s visit had been short and she didn’t try to cushion the blow in her letter back to Gen. The smeared ink and stained droplets implied Gen had cried when she read the letter and the sudden, sharp and hot anger that induce in her startled Shaw.

“Gen,” she murmured. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”

“About what?” Gen asked, looking up from playing with her new ninja star. Then she spotted the letter in Shaw’s hand and jumped to her feet, snatching it out of Shaw’s hands. “No, you weren’t supposed to see that one.”

“Why did you never ask me?” Shaw asked.

Gen stared at her and scoffed. Then she gathered up all the letters before Shaw could stop her and shoved them in the box with her birthday presents, looking miserable. Possibly even worse than she had been in the parking lot earlier that day. Shaw rolled her eyes, but it was more for show than anything and she bit her lip, staring out of the window and the darkness that washed over the city as Gen packed the rest of her stuff away into the box, sniffling softly.

When she was finished, she made to lift the box up and carry it to her room. Shaw stopped her, gripping her arm firmly.

“Hey,” she said, “how about we have some more of that chocolate cake?”

“But it’s almost midnight,” said Gen, rubbing at her eyes, but not from tiredness. The lone tear that escaped and slowly tracked down her cheek, Shaw brushed away gently with her thumb without thinking.

“It’s still your birthday,” said Shaw. “So it’s allowed.”

Gen grinned and didn’t even complain when Shaw told her to go get two slices and bring it through. She returned a few minutes later with two large pieces of cake, examining both plates closely before taking the bigger bit for herself. Shaw accepted the smaller piece grudgingly and scooted over on the bed so Gen could sit next to her.

“You’re gonna throw up if you eat all that,” Shaw commented, taking a large bite of her own slice.

“No I’m not,” Gen mumbled round a mouthful of cake.

They ate the rest in companionable silence. Shaw finished hers first and could tell Gen was struggling with her last few bites, but she stubbornly chewed them down, handing Shaw her empty plate when she was done.

“You have a good day, kiddo?” Shaw asked.

Gen nodded, despite all the tears she had shed today. Shaw stared at her for a moment, satisfied that she was telling the truth.

“Good,” said Shaw and was surprised when Gen launched herself at her, pulling her into another hug. Shaw stiffened, unsure what to do with her hands and awkwardly holding onto their plates instead. “You’ve already had a hug today,” she complained, unable to keep the scorn out of her voice.

“It’s my birthday,” said Gen smugly. “I’m allowed.”

“Only for about another thirty seconds,” Shaw muttered darkly. Gen waited until the clock on Shaw’s bedside struck midnight before letting her go. “You should really get to bed,” she said, climbing to her feet just in case Gen tried for another hug. “Harold’s planned a big day for you tomorrow.”

Gen’s faced scrunched up in disgust at that. “Why does he always insist on doing educational things?”

Shaw shrugged. “It’s just his thing.”

“But it’s _boring_ ,” Gen complained, shuffling her feet deliberately slowly when Shaw ushered her out of her room.

_Believe me, I know,_ she thought darkly. Finch was making her go to.

*

“How did Reese manage to get out of this?” Shaw asked, interrupting Harold mid lecture as he droned on and on about the brushstrokes used in Mary Cassatt’s _Summertime._

Harold frowned at her, clearly annoyed that he didn’t have her undivided attention. “He has a dentist appointment.”

“On a Sunday?” Shaw scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Next to her, and looking just as bored, Gen giggled. She quickly covered it up with a weak cough, however, when Harold turned his frown onto her.

“Why don’t we take a look at the more modern art if impressionists aren’t to your liking,” Harold suggested.

Gen frowned for a moment. “Do they have comics?”

Shaw snorted as Harold sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, the Metropolitan Museum of Art does _not_ have comics,” he said tightly.

“I was only asking,” Gen muttered.

“Doesn’t that school teach you anything about culture?” Harold asked.

“Not really.”

Harold shook his head, limping off towards another section of the gallery.

Not only had he gotten them up at an ungodly hour on a Sunday, he had insisted on conducting a mini tour himself, imparting upon them his extensive knowledge on what felt like every painting in the place, heedless of their boredom and disinterest. But it had been the one thing this weekend that he wanted to do with Gen – and Shaw still couldn’t fathom why she had been forced to come as well – and he so rarely ever did get to spend time with her. What little time they did spend with each other was mostly tense and uncomfortable. Usually Harold was telling her off for something, still the most predominant authority figure in Gen’s life considering he was paying for her tuition. It wasn’t just that though. Shaw got the impression that Gen didn’t like him very much and it wasn’t only because of his stick up the ass attitude. They didn’t have anything in common and, most of the time, Gen didn’t bother to put the effort in anyway.

Which usually left Shaw in the middle trying to dissuade an argument before it started. She could see one starting now if Gen didn’t stop trundling along behind Finch like he was leading her to a torture session filled with knives and drills and all manner of things that were painful and unpleasant to most people.

“Isn’t it lunchtime yet?” Gen asked.

“It’s ten thirty,” said Harold, halting and turning around to face her.

“So?” said Gen, glancing at Shaw for some support.

“That sounds like lunchtime to me,” said Shaw.

“Fine,” said Harold, holding his hands up in defeat. “We’ll go to lunch.”

*

Like with everything lately, Root felt nervous as she stepped inside the diner. She spotted Gen and the others in a booth up the back; hard to miss with Gen waving at her so enthusiastically. The scowl on Shaw’s face was difficult to ignore to, but she remained silent as Root slid into the seat next to Harold.

“Ms. Groves?” said Harold questioningly.

“Little early for lunch, isn’t it?” Root said, eyeing up the plate of fries in front of Gen.

“That’s what I said,” Harold muttered a little condescendingly. “Is there something we can do for you, Ms. Groves?” he added.

Root shrugged, stealing a fry from Gen’s plate and popping it in her mouth. It had gone cold and was covered in far too much ketchup, and to her already roiling gut, it only left her feeling nauseous.

“I’ve come to tell you all that I’ve made a decision,” said Root.

“Oh?” said Harold. Opposite him, Shaw’s scowl turned into a glare, like she knew where this conversation was about to go. Maybe she did. Perhaps Gen had discussed it with her last night, or maybe she was just good at guessing. Maybe she just knew her all too well.

“You did?” Gen asked and Root could tell she was trying not to get her hopes up.

“Yeah,” said Root. “I’ve decided to stay.”

She was speaking to Gen, but looking at Shaw. Watching the muscles in her jaw tightly clench as she shook her head. It was the least Root expected. She had come fully prepared for anger and resentment. For Shaw pointing a gun at her and taking her to the airport herself.

But Shaw didn’t do any of those things. She didn’t say anything at all.

“You are?” said Gen. Still with a slight hesitancy to her voice.

“I am,” Root confirmed. Gen hopped out of her seat, coming around to the other side of the table to pull Root into a tight hug. Root wrapped her arms around her automatically, pulling her close as she shut her eyes. For a moment, she could pretend it was just them. Could ignore Harold’s quiet dubiousness at this decision, Shaw’s hostility that felt like it would never leave, even if she was trying to keep it at bay for Gen’s sake.

“I’m so glad,” Gen mumbled in her ear.

Root tightened her grip. “Me too, hon.”

“You’re hurting me now,” Gen squeezed out.

Chuckling lightly, Root let her go, blinking away the tears in her eyes. Her vision cleared and her gaze found Shaw’s again, wanting some sort of acknowledgement, validation maybe, that this was okay. But she didn’t know if it ever could be.

And she was okay with that, for the moment. She thought she could live with it. Shaw could continue to hate her all she wanted, but Root had made her decision. She was here for Gen, for however long she needed her.

It was Shaw that finally looked away first, saying nothing. And maybe that was for the best. Maybe the only thing they could do now was try to be civil and ignore everything else.

Beside her, Harold stiffened slightly as his phone went off. He pulled it out from his inside pocket, looking out of place in his formal tweed suit as he frowned down at the message he had received.

“Mr Reese needs our assistance with something,” he said to Shaw.

“I need to take Gen back to school,” Shaw said. She frowned, but already she was ushering Gen to move out of the way so she could slide out of the booth.

“I think it might be rather urgent,” said Harold and Root quickly stood to let him out before he could ask her to.

“It’s okay,” said Gen. “Root can take me.”

Shaw and Harold exchanged a sceptical look.

“I’ll call Daniel,” said Shaw.

“But Root’s right here,” said Gen reasonably.

“I don’t mind,” said Root, knowing that wasn’t exactly what was making Shaw indecisive right now.

“Ms Shaw,” said Harold. “I really think we need to hurry.”

Shaw clenched her teeth, clearly not happy with this decision. “Fine,” she sighed eventually. “Take my car, her stuff’s already in it.” She thrust the keys into Root’s hands without another word and followed Harold out of the diner.

Root stared down at the keys in her hand, then back up at Gen. They felt heavy with responsibility and although Shaw didn’t really have any other choice, Root felt the trust disposed upon her push down on her hard. But she was determined to prove she was worthy of it. This decision she had made, to stay for Gen and be all that she could be for her… that was Root’s mission now.

She wasn’t sure where that would lead her, and, in a way, there was more uncertainty around this than there had been when she was planning on jumping on the first plane that would take her somewhere warm. Root hadn’t planned anything beyond choosing to stay, but she supposed she could get a place in the city of her very own. She hadn’t had that in a long time. Or maybe she would get a place somewhere nearer Gen’s school, that way they could see each other more often.

Uncertainty filled her future, yes, but for once Root was okay with it. She had Gen, in an almost unconditional way that wasn’t going away any time soon. It was a thought that both scared her and motivated her to keep going, that grounded her like gravity.

“They always do that,” said Gen.

Root looked at her. “Do what?”

“Rush off,” Gen explained. “But I know what they are doing.”

“Oh?” said Root. “And what’s that?”

“Saving people,” said Gen as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Glancing towards the door that both Shaw and Harold had left through mere moments ago, no doubt off to help Reese and whatever number he had got caught up in, Root couldn’t argue with her assumption.

“Yeah, I guess they are,” she said. “Come on, Nancy Drew, let’s get out of here.”

“Ugh,” Gen growled, lifting up her backpack and swinging it over one shoulder. “Who told you?”

Instead of answering, Root just smirked and led Gen out of the diner and towards Shaw’s car. Despite Gen happily debriefing her on her birthday party, Root could tell she wasn’t thrilled about the idea of going back to school, so it didn’t come as a surprise to Root when Gen suddenly yelled at her to pull over just as they were about to turn off onto the George Washington bridge.

“What is it?” Root asked, glancing towards Gen and trying to find a space to park at the side of the road. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Gen assured. She _looked_ fine, but Root was unconvinced. “I just… I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything, kiddo,” said Root, reaching out to brush the hair from Gen’s face. She was met with defiant eyes and a determination not seen in most thirteen year olds.

“Remember a few months ago,” Gen began, “when I asked you if you were ever in Russia…”

“Yes,” said Root. She remembered opening that particular letter, reading Gen’s request and unable to make any promises. She didn’t get to dictate where she was going next. Until a few weeks later, she found herself tracking Jason to St Petersburg. She lost him, of course, always three steps behind and finding the trail cold before she could pick it back up again. Root had almost forgotten about Gen’s letter at that point, but she had made a promise, if only to herself, to see her request through.

Which was how she found herself a few days later at Butyrka prison, sitting opposite a woman with straggly blonde hair. As they sat across from each other, a conversation in stilted, broken English because Root didn’t know a word of Russian, Root tried to pick out the features from this woman’s face that belonged to Gen. Try as hard as she could, she just couldn’t see it. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. Perhaps it was easier that way, to distance the relationship between the two.

It made hearing the woman’s next words easier at least.

“I need you to…” Gen glanced out the window, watching the passing traffic. “They weren’t even going to tell me her sentence had been extended. Or why.”

“Gen –”

“I need to see her,” said Gen, lifting her backpack up from the floor at her feet. She unzipped the front with trembling fingers and pulled out an envelope with Rossiya Airlines written on the front.

“I don’t think you’re going to like what you find,” said Root. She hadn’t seen the point, back then, in lying to Gen about her mother’s lack of interest, her complete and total uncaring attitude towards her own daughter. She hadn’t wanted to hear about Gen’s life in New York, what had happened to her after her Grandfather had died. After an hour of attempting to engage her in conversation, Root had given up and left, writing her letter to Gen the next morning and leaving nothing out. She had hesitated for about a second before sending it. And in all the subsequent letters she received from Gen, none of them had ever mentioned Root’s visit with her mother.

“I have to hear it for myself,” said Gen. “Please. I’ve never asked you for anything.”

Root shook her head. “I can’t just take you to Russia. I can’t –”

“Why?” said Gen.

“Maybe if you ask Harold or –”

“They won’t listen,” said Gen. She was close to tears now and Root found it difficult to look at them. “You know they won’t.”

She did know that. All too well.

Still, she was hesitant. This wasn’t like sneaking Gen comic books or indulging her in her tendency to spy on people on a regular basis. This was like kidnap. No… not _like,_ that was exactly what it would be. But what right did any of them have to make decisions about Gen’s life? Harold only acted like he could because he was paying for everything, but none of the paperwork was legal. It had all been forged, was another lie to hide Gen away from the authorities until… what? Gen’s mother wasn’t getting out of prison anytime soon, she had no other family to speak of. Just them. Her and Shaw and maybe even Harold and Reese.

“Okay,” said Root eventually.

“Okay?” Gen asked, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

“I’ll take you,” said Root, turning the key in the ignition with resigned determination.

“You will?” said Gen, smiling so brightly that it was hard to tell she had been crying only a few seconds before.

“Just… don’t get your hopes up okay, kiddo?” said Root.

Gen nodded, smiling all the way to the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of part 1


	16. Part 2: Chapter 16

The ten hour flight from New York to Moscow was the most nerve wracking thing Root had ever experienced. She didn't mind flying - in fact, it was one of her more favoured ways to travel - but as soon as she had strapped herself into the seat, Gen beside her in the cramped space in the back of the plane travelling in economy class, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was a big mistake.

The feeling stayed with her as the plane gunned down the runway, ascending into the air. The change in pressure made Root's ears pop; a sharp pain burning through her good ear that left her feeling nauseous for most of the flight. She thought being up in the air, safe from airport security or police or anyone else who had the authority to stop them, would make her feel better. It didn't. With every passing air hostess, Root was expecting one of them to stop at her seat, to demand to know just what the hell she thought she was doing with a young girl that didn't belong to her on their way to Russia.

Although, according to their passports, Gen _did_ belong to her. Or at least they had the same last name. Root had to hand it to her: Gen knew exactly what she was doing.

Which was a lot more than Root could say for herself.

Gen had somehow managed to arranged fake passports, buy tickets and acquire them visas to get into the country. When Root had asked her how she had paid for everything, Gen muttered something about Harold's emergency credit card. Root doubted this was what he'd had in mind when he gave it to her.

Root didn't ask about how or who she had gotten the passports from. She decided she didn't want to know. By the time the plane took off and they were in the air, it didn't matter all that much anyway.

There was no going back now. There was no way she could fix the mess she had surely gotten herself into.

Because when they found out, when they realised what Root had done... there would be no forgiveness this time. What little trust Root had managed to salvage these past few days after being away for so long was bound to be lost for good.

They would be furious. All of them.

And especially Shaw.

Root knew it wouldn't take them long to figure it out. Gen's school would likely contact Harold, her guardian as far as they were concerned, when she didn't return after her weekend away. It would be child's play for Harold to check the credit card's history, to find out Gen had purchased two plane tickets to Moscow. It wouldn't take much for them to figure out why.

Or maybe Harold would forget about the credit card and they would be left wondering, left with only one logical conclusion... that Root, for some unknown reason, had taken Gen and, once again, ran away.

She didn't like to think about what Shaw's reaction to that might be. What little progress Root might have been fooling herself into believing had been made, was surely ruined now.

She remembered lips on hers, a kiss so unexpected that it had taken Root a moment to realise what was happening before Shaw had pushed her away as quickly as she had grabbed onto her.

_I can't do this._

Maybe Root couldn't either, not then and not now. Maybe not ever. Because this was one step too far. There was no way Root could come back from this. No way could Shaw ever forgive her for what she had done.

Because this was _Gen._

Gen, who had somehow slipped into both their lives without either of them noticing, who was the very embodiment of everything that they were fighting for, protecting. Gen wasn't just another number to Shaw, she was every number she had saved and every one she couldn't. But she was also more than that. Root wasn't even sure if Shaw had realised it herself yet, but Root had. She knew what Gen meant to her and was determined to do right by her, even if that meant going against everyone else she cared about. Even if it meant she lost everything and everyone else she loved.

Shaw would kill her for this. And if she didn't... well, Root wasn't sure continuing to breathe would matter all that much in the end.

About five hours after take-off, they turned out the lights. Gen slept for the rest of the flight, her head resting against Root's shoulder, warm and heavy, but Root didn't mind. Having her close was reassuring and familiar amongst the haze of uncertainty that this trip conjured up. But she was quieter than usual even when she was awake, making Root wonder if she too were starting to have doubts. Or maybe she was just nervous about what was to come, about the answers to her questions and the mother that, when Root had visited all those months ago, wanted nothing to do with her.

There was heartbreak in that girl’s future, Root could feel it as if it were her very own, something shared but that could never be taken away from Gen completely no matter how much Root might want it to be. She wouldn't be able to stop it, despite how hard she fought, how determined she was.

But that wouldn't stop her from trying.

The lights in the cabin blinked on some time later and Root stared blearily at the fasten seatbelt sign, wondering when she had fallen asleep. She nudged Gen awake, smiling fondly at the over exaggerated yawn and grumble about being rudely awakened. Like her, Gen really wasn't a morning person, and she had a feeling the jet lag was probably going to make Gen's grouchiness even worse.

She was pleasantly surprised, however, when Gen perked up the moment they stepped off the plane.

All the signs in the airport were in Russian and Root couldn't read a word of it, but Gen seemed to know exactly where she was going as she led Root through security – unconcerned when their passports and visas were scrutinised by a severe looking woman – and onto baggage claims to retrieve the only piece of luggage they had checked in. The small suitcase Gen had packed for her birthday weekend. Root had wanted to leave it for convenience sakes, but Gen had convinced her otherwise, making Root wonder what else she had packed in there.

It was about mid-morning in Moscow and the sun was out and shining down on them when they exited the airport. Winter was still far away and the temperature was pleasant enough until a harsh wind picked up, leaving Root shivering in her leather jacket. She stuck close to Gen as the kid weaved her way through the crowd and over to a taxi rank, fighting the urge to hold onto her hand or grip onto her backpack. Root was having enough difficulties towing Gen's suitcase - heavier than she had been anticipating - behind her. She doubted Gen was about to ditch her anytime soon though and she slowed at a crossing, waiting until Root had caught up before quickly walking to the other side of the street.

"Where are we going?" Root asked, feeling something hot and tight stirring in the pit of her stomach. It was unsettling, being in the dark like this. It reminded her of all those times she had blindly followed the Machine without knowing why, her faith and belief that it was the right thing to do holding strong and keeping her going. Now, she could barely even speak to the Machine without feeling hot anger, accompanied by a thick sadness that seemed to stick to everything else in her life.

"I booked us a car to take us to the hotel," Gen explained. "The pickup point is over there." She pointed to another taxi rank with a tall sign with the logo of a company and its name in Russian on it.

"Hotel?" said Root. She hadn't even thought that far ahead yet. But it was about two in the morning back in New York and the thought suddenly made the exhaustion fire across her body, seeping into every cell and tissue until she was surprised she could still stand upright and keep her eyes open.

Gen nodded. "I booked that too. I thought it would be easier,” she said. “Plus, I didn't think it would be wise for either of us to try and forge Harold's signature."

_No_ , Root agreed. Although, the more she let her mind think about it, the more she thought that none of this was a wise idea.

They approached one of the cabs; a four door sedan with a grouchy looking bearded man in the front. He was smoking a cigarette but tossed it out the driver's side window as they approached. Gen said something quickly to him in Russian and he eyed her up and down before stepping out of the cab and taking the suitcase from Root to put it into the trunk. Root followed Gen into the backseat, glancing at the driver warily and cautious about saying anything to Gen that would give away their origins. Still unable to shake the feeling that they might get caught at any moment, Root felt the tension coil and tighten within her body. She couldn't relax, even if she had wanted to.

It was just over an hour’s drive from Domodedovo Moscow Airport to the city. Gen spent most of it with her head propped against the window, struggling to keep her eyes open. There wasn't much to see other than fields and trees edging the side of the road. Sometimes there was the occasional building, but none of it interested Root and she doubted it was holding much interest for Gen either.

Tiredness itched at her eyes and Root had to force herself to keep them open. She was in a strange land with little resources. Nothing new for her, but usually she was by herself, not accompanied by a thirteen year old that she had taken it upon herself to become responsible for. Perhaps she had made a mistake in coming here, but Root was determined to make sure that Gen came out of it relatively unscathed. If that meant Root had to tie her to a leash, she would do it. Dark thoughts of what was awaiting Gen when she visited her mother filled her, however, and Root knew that there was nothing she could do to protect Gen from that.

When they reached the city's outskirts, Root, for the second time that morning, nudged Gen awake. It was with a little more grogginess that Gen opened her eyes this time, rubbing at them furiously.

"We're almost there," Root murmured when Gen looked at her questioningly. Root kept her hand on Gen's shoulder, feeling her warm underneath her touch and she rubbed at it absently until Gen shrugged her off in typical haughty teenager fashion. Root smiled, not taking it personally and listened as Gen spoke with the driver once again. She missed the Machine’s translations in her ear and wondered if She was watching.

_Of course She’s watching_ , Root thought. _She’s always watching._

Whether or not the Machine approved was another story. It wasn’t like Root was privy to the thoughts of the all-seeing AI. Sometimes, she could guess, could _assume_ really, what the Machine might be thinking. Often she forgot that the Machine didn't think the same way humans did. There was a logic to Her processing, unencumbered by emotion and feelings and the thought of others. Sometimes, Root didn't know how she could have ever believed that the Machine cared about humanity.

Perhaps the thought was unfair. After all, not even Harold, who knew the Machine's code inside out, intimately even, could fathom how the Machine thought now. So much had happened. The Machine had grown and evolved and with that came silence and a judgement that Root found hard to bear. She missed the days of seeing glimpses of the big picture, of missions where she had absolutely no doubt that the path she was heading down led to the right thing.

There hadn't been a mission from the Machine in over a year, except Her... _encouragement_ to bring Jason back to New York. Root had followed then; similar goals binding her and the Machine together once again, no matter how briefly. And it had been brief. The only thing she heard apart from the rushing silence in her bad ear now was the odd whisper and static. She couldn't even be sure it was even the Machine or just her imagination, born out of exhaustion and fear.

There had been nothing, however, not even static, since Root made her decision to stay in New York. The Machine hadn't interfered at JFK as Root took Gen by the hand and tentatively stepped on a plane and, quite possibly, made the second biggest mistake of her life.

It made Root wonder if the Machine had other plans. Or perhaps, finally, She had listened to Root's stubborn silence and refusal to listen and had given up on her.

Sadness washed over Root at the thought, so heavy and black, so _deep_ , that she didn't think she would ever be rid of it. But then Gen gripped her hand in hers once they were out of the cab, pulling her in the direction of their hotel and Root found herself feeling a little lighter. It stayed with her, that feeling, even after Gen had let go and walked over to the reception desk. Root pretended to be busy with the suitcase as Gen spoke rapidly in Russian and retrieved their room key.

The hotel’s atrium was decorated in communist red wallpaper, patterned with gold flowers that shined when the light hit off them. The floor beneath her feet was a dark mahogany wood that was the same shade as the front doors. It was a nice place, but not the most high-end and expensive of hotels. That Gen had limited herself with both the coach seats on the flight and the three star hotel, gave Root the impression that this wasn’t just a teenage whim.

"People are going to start to wonder why the kid is doing all the talking," Root said once they were safely inside the small elevator. There was barely enough room in the small space for the two of them and Root had to wedge Gen's suitcase uncomfortably between the wall and her leg so that they would fit. She glanced up at the ceiling but there didn't appear to be any security cameras. It felt odd not being watched for once.

"They won't care." Gen shrugged. "Nobody in big cities ever do."

Root didn't think anybody in small towns did either. All the same, she was wary of the following days and what they would bring.

"I got us a twin room," said Gen as she unlocked the door to room 316. It had been awhile since Root had been in a hotel with an old fashioned lock and key. These days, most hotels had switched over to electronic key card locks. Much more useful for breaking and entering. Not that Root was stumped by lock picking it old school, but there was a lot to be said about having one card that would open up every room in a hotel.

The room was decorated in the same floral wallpaper as downstairs and the two twin beds, pushed together tightly in the small room, had a deep red coverlet that matched the wallpaper. Over the beds hung an ugly painting of a farm house and opposite that, leaving barely enough space to walk through, was a large mahogany dressing table with a boxy television sitting on top of it. To the right of the beds was another door that Root assumed led to the bathroom and she doubted it was much bigger.

"I hope that's okay," Gen continued, taking her suitcase from Root and hauling it inside. She dumped it on the bed nearest the window and started undoing the lock, slowly and deliberately. Almost like she was nervous about something.

"Hey," said Root, walking towards her and lifting Gen's face up by her chin so she could look at her. "You okay?"

Gen nodded, swallowing as she averted her gaze. Root didn't believe her bravado for a second and wondered if it was finally sinking in for Gen, now that they were in Moscow, what they had done and what the likely consequences would be.

"I brought you some spare clothes," said Gen, pulling out of Root's grip to finish opening her suitcase. "In case you want to go wash ten hours of plane off."

Root smiled. "You really thought of everything, huh?"

Gen shrugged and pulled out a pile of clothing that looked to be about Root's size and placed it on the bed.

Root didn't fall for her casual modesty. Gen really had thought of everything. The spare clothes and fake passports... hell, even the visas to get into the country. None of those were easy to come by. This had taken careful planning and preparation. Gen's decision to come here and visit her mother wasn't a spur of the moment thought. She had to have been planning this trip for a while, long before Root had shown up again.

"You were going to come here on your own, weren't you?" Root sat on the edge of the bed, fingers idly playing with the hem of one of the t-shirts Gen had brought for her. Biting her lip, Gen nodded.

"When I heard you were back - on the bug I planted in Harold's office," Gen explained, "I knew I had to ask you to come with me."

"I'm glad you did," said Root, reaching her arm out to pull Gen into a hug. It was awkward with her sitting on the bed and Gen still standing, but she didn't mind the strain on her muscles. She was glad she was here, that Gen wasn't alone in a strange city. Yes, she could speak the language, could understand things far better than Root ever could, yet still Root was grateful to be here. And it wasn't just to be the designated adult. She liked that it was just her and Gen. This trip was theirs, special in way. Something that could never be taken from them. She felt closer to Gen than she ever had before. There was a connection between them now that could never be broken.

She was tied to Gen in a way that she had never been before with any other person. It was exhilarating and terrifying and so consuming that Root feared what she would do if it _was_ ever broken. She refused to let it happen, refused to let anyone take Gen away from her and tried not to think about how, when Harold and Shaw and the rest of them figured out what she had done, they would do exactly that.

*

Root let Gen sleep for a couple of hours and then woke her up mid-afternoon. She didn't sleep herself, far too tense and on edge to even attempt it. Instead, she lay down on her side, watching the steady rise and fall of Gen's chest as she slept and listened to the sounds of traffic and life outside in the bustling city.

Her stomach growled audibly as she shook Gen awake. Neither of them had eaten since the plane; a pitiful excuse for breakfast that Root had merely picked at and ate very little of. She suggested a late lunch to a still groggy with sleep Gen and the girl nodded, rubbing at her eyes as she sat up in bed. Root sat there, watching her and realised that she was waiting for Gen to make the next move. It scared her a little, how much she was having to rely on Gen in this strange place and she was angry at herself for not insisting back in New York that they wait so she could have been better prepared.

As usual, Gen seemed unfazed. "We could order room service and charge it to Harold's credit card," she suggested, leaning over to the cabinet by the bedside where the hotel's restaurant menu was propped up. Root shifted on the bed so she was resting against the headboard, side by side with Gen and peered at the menu over Gen's shoulder. Unsurprisingly, it was all in Russian. And eventually Root told Gen to order whatever she wanted for the both of them and disappeared into the bathroom to splash some cold water onto her tired face. It stung and left her skin all blotchy red in places and it wasn't until she caught a look of herself in the mirror, looking rundown and exhausted, that she regretted not sleeping when Gen had.

Root didn't know what to expect for lunch, but Gen seemed to have neglected the more traditional Russian dishes for something more Westernized and clearly intended for tourists. Popping a fry into her mouth and chewing slowly, Root was glad. She was having a difficult enough time forcing herself to eat something familiar. The fried potato felt like cardboard in her mouth, hard to swallow and leaving her stomach churning unpleasantly.

After lunch, they spent the afternoon watching Russian TV, with Gen translating happily at first until she eventually got bored (and perhaps a little exasperated) when Root kept making fun of the terrible acting and not believing Gen about what they were actually saying. In annoyance, Gen snatched at the remote, muting the TV in her haste and they found, now that neither one of them had a clue what was going, it was a lot more fun to make up the story themselves together, with them each taking turns to put on mock voices - Root was rather proud of her fake Russian accent - that rendered them both useless when they couldn't stop giggling.

Root didn't think she had ever laughed so hard in her life and, for a while, she forgot where they were, what they were doing, until the laughter stopped. Gen sobered up and that same dim look that had been on her face when they first stepped into the hotel room reappeared.

"You okay?" Root asked, placing the remains of their room service on the dressing table next to the TV.

Gen nodded, biting her lip and betraying her nervousness.

"Worried about tomorrow?"

Gen nodded again and glanced away and Root decided not to push any further. They tried going back to watching TV, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted and when Root suggested they go for a walk and explore the city a little, Gen shook her head and pulled one of the comic books out of her backpack and buried her face behind it. For the briefest of moments, she considered going by herself and stretching her long legs. Her entire body was tense and cramped after their long flight, but she was reluctant to leave Gen by herself.

"It'll be okay," Root promised, her voice just above a whisper. She was unsure of who she was trying to convince.

*

The next morning, feeling a little more refreshed after a night of sleep (Root had slept for about five hours straight, she was pleased to find) Root and Gen headed downstairs to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast. A long buffet table took up the length of the back wall and several other guests were already lined up at one end of it. The hostess showed them to their table and spoke in Russian briefly before heading back to her post.

"What did she say?" Root asked, once again hating the fact that she had to keep relying on Gen to translate everything.

"Plates are over there," Gen said, pointing towards a small round table with a stack of white plates and bowls. "We can help ourselves."

Root wasn't all that hungry and she didn't much like the look of some of the Russian breakfast foods. Eventually she decided on a slice of toast and some coffee and frowned when she got back to the table and found Gen with a bowl of cereal that looked untouched. She didn't feel like eating much herself and felt like a hypocrite when she insisted Gen eat something else. Gen smirked and snatched up one half of Root's slice of toast, chewing it obnoxiously with a grin. Root rolled her eyes, sipping at her coffee slowly. It was too hot and bitter and could do with several spoonfuls of sugar, but Root forced herself to drink it anyway, feeling the caffeine waking her up a bit.

Gen was slow to finish and Root could tell she was nervous. Visiting time at the prison was until this afternoon, but it was a hundred miles away and they still had to find the train station to get them there. Root glanced at her watch; it had just gone half past nine now. They would have to walk to the train station and Root, unsure of how to get there, didn't know how long it would take them.

"If you've changed your mind," Root began, placing her empty cup of coffee down onto the table, "we can always try again tomorrow."

"No," said Gen firmly. Determination flashed across her face and she swallowed down the last of her orange juice before abruptly climbing to her feet. "Let's go."

Root had no choice but to follow, trusting that Gen knew where she was going.

Outside, the sun was out, the sky was blue and there was no trace of the breeze from yesterday. She could almost pretend they were just out for a pleasant morning walk. It would be so easy, if Gen weren't so tense. She walked briskly ahead and Root struggled to keep up with her and only managed to do so when Gen paused at a stop sign at the edge of a busy road.

"Hey," said Root, grabbing onto her wrist. "Slow down."

"We're going to be late," Gen said impatiently.

"Relax," said Root, squeezing Gen's wrist reassuringly. "We'll be fine."

Gen stared at her as if she didn't believe her and pulled out of Root's grasp as she made to cross the road. Her pace had slowed, however, allowing Root to walk beside her and Root found herself glancing at her out of the corner of her eye every five seconds. She couldn't fight back the worry that Gen was only going to find cruel disappointment with this visit and she desperately wanted to protect her from it, but didn't know how.

She wasn't as surreptitious as she had thought, though, because Gen stopped suddenly, sighing heavily as she turned to face Root.

"Stop it," she snapped.

Root stiffened. "I'm not-"

"Stop looking at me," Gen said, "I'm fine."

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Root said "You can change your mind. It's okay."

"I've not changed my mind," Gen insisted. "I can do this. I _want_ to do this."

She spoke with a ferocious intensity that was far beyond her years. It gave Root the impression that Gen was ready for anything, that she could do anything she wanted to as long as she put her mind to it. It was difficult for her to remember that Gen was just a kid. That although circumstance had led her to grow up fast, what she was doing now, despite her will to keep going, was fuelled from a childish hope that everything would be okay and sunshine and happiness, just like she had imagined.

It was scarily like how Root had been when she was a kid. Before reality and the cruelty of the world caught up with her.

Root knew then that it wouldn't matter what she said. There were no words in her vocabulary that could convince Gen to let this go. She had to face it herself. Face her mother and the truth and whatever disappointment and hurt that brought with it. Because Root had no doubt Gen was about to confront the same woman Root had met all those months ago; harsh and cold and disinterested. Gen had to experience that for herself. Otherwise the hope would remain, eating her up and leaving her wondering and hungry for a life she no longer had.

"Okay," said Root, smiling sadly. "Let's keep going."

Yesterday afternoon, once Gen had grown tired of re-reading her comic books, Root made her tell her everything she had planned. Gen really had thought of everything and booked what she would need in advance: the plane tickets, the visa, their hotel room and two return tickets that would get them to Vladimir, Russia and back.

Vladimir Central Prison was just under a three hour train journey and a short walk of about twenty minutes. Gen spent the entire train ride staring out of the window, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth until it had turned bright red. Root gave up on conversation fairly quickly when it became clear that Gen was too agitated to talk and she too ended up staring out of the window, watching fields go past and wishing the time away. The journey was just long enough for Gen to work herself up into a state and Root had to reassure her it would be okay. They could go back if she wanted to. But Gen just swallowed hard and walked determinedly onwards, leaving Root with nothing to do but to follow on behind.

The prison buildings were as mundane as Root remembered and, this time, she was the one that knew where she was going as she led Gen inside the main building. The guard on duty out front barely spared them a glance as Gen signed her name next to her mother’s. They were about ten minutes early, which left them waiting in a small room with rows of chairs and Russian magazines on a coffee table. There was a vending machine against one wall; its light was out and it didn’t look like anyone had used it in years.

“You okay?” Root asked for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Gen nodded, ducking her head slightly so her long curls covered her face. Root brushed them back so she could look at her properly. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything okay?”

“Okay,” Gen said.

“I can come in if you want,” Root said hesitantly, unsure about how good a suggestion that really was. Her conversation with Gen’s mother hadn’t exactly gone well the first time.

“I can do it by myself,” Gen insisted. Root didn’t argue with her and watched, feeling the tension and worry tightening in her gut, as Gen walked alone into the visiting room.

A two hour time slot was allocated for visiting and Root didn’t know how long Gen would be in there for. For the second time that day, she settled herself down to sit and wait. Except this time she didn’t have the view out of a window to keep her occupied and she felt the boredom creeping in. She flipped through a few of the magazines, staring incomprehensively at the Russian letters, before tossing them aside. She missed the Machine more than ever and part of her wished for the mundane monotone voice muttering useless facts in her ear.

Gen had only be gone fifteen minutes when Root couldn’t take the tension anymore and climbed to her feet, pacing back and forth in the small room, desperately itching to do _something_ , to check on Gen and reassure herself that she was okay.

Static flared up in her implant and she paused, listening intently and wondering if she was imagining things in her boredom.

She wasn’t.

The static cleared and the Machine muttered a warning. Root whirled around to face the door. She didn’t need the Machine to warn her. The murderous look pointed in her direction was all too familiar and Root felt her heart sinking as Shaw stormed towards her.


	17. Part 2: Chapter 17

Shaw’s fist curled tightly around Root’s jacket, shoving her backwards until she hit the wall behind her. Root felt the impact juddering throughout her body. She lost her breath for a moment as she stared at the most murderous look she had ever seen on Shaw’s face.

Angry didn’t even begin to describe it.

Furious, perhaps, covered it, but still Root didn’t think any words had been invented to convey the wrath currently displayed by Sameen Shaw.

“Shaw-”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Shaw hissed. It sounded like a question, but Root couldn’t be sure. Even if it was, she doubted Shaw was ready to listen to her answer or hear her excuses. “You can’t just pull shit like this,” Shaw continued, pressing Root further into the wall. Her breath was as warm as a blow torch as it danced across the skin on Root’s face. “Not with Gen.”

“She asked me to bring her,” said Root, realising too late that opening her mouth was the last thing she should have done. The sound of her voice seemed to snap Shaw out of her rage and she abruptly let Root go, taking a step backwards and shaking her head as if to clear it.

Anger was something Root knew how to deal with. Not this deflated look that settled over Shaw as she breathed heavily through her nose.

“What was I supposed to do?” said Root. “Let her come on her own?”

Shaw’s head snapped up at that and there was that familiar anger that Root knew all to well.

“And you always do what some teenager tells you?” Shaw asked scathingly.

“She was going to come here regardless of what I did,” said Root reasonably. “Which you would know if you even bothered to listen to her once in a while.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Shaw snapped.

Sighing, Root looked away. She had gleaned most of her assumptions from Gen’s letters, reading between the lines of what she was actually saying. But it wasn’t until she had come back, saw Gen for the first time that she confirmed her suspicions. Gen wasn’t happy. She hadn’t been for a long time. And the people closest to her, the people that mattered, didn’t seem to see it.

Or maybe they just didn’t care.

When Root continued to stare at the far wall, avoiding Shaw’s gaze and saying nothing, Shaw said, “You have _no_ idea what’s going on here.”

Root scoffed. “I know that Gen is miserable.”

Shaw opened her mouth as if she were about to say something. No doubt something hot and angry and defensive, but Root never gave her the chance.

“You and Harold,” Root continued calmly, more calm than she actually felt. “You send her away to that school so you don’t have to deal with her. She hates it, but it’s so much more convenient for the both of you just to dump her there.”

“Convenient?” said Shaw. Her voice was like ice, but Root wasn’t wary of it. Not anymore. She was tired of Shaw’s anger, of apologising for all the mistakes she had made only for it to fall on deaf ears. She couldn’t do it anymore. She _refused_ to do it anymore and now, Root realised, it didn’t matter what Shaw thought of her. If Shaw forgave her.

Root couldn’t do it anymore.

She was done trying.

“Who was there when she cried for three days straight after _you_ left?” Shaw continued angrily. “ _Me._ So don’t talk to me about what’s convenient and what isn’t. You weren’t there.”

A sharp exhale left Root’s mouth, somewhere between irritation and amusement. She was wondering how long it was going to take Shaw to bring that up. This had to be some kind of new record. And for someone who supposedly didn’t care about a lot of things, who claimed she didn’t care about Root anymore, her incessant anger belied the truth in a way that Root could no longer stand to hear.

“How many times are you going to keep bringing that up, Shaw?” said Root, surprised to find anger in her own voice. “How many more times do you want me to apologise?”

Shaw stared at her for a moment, her jaw clench tightly like she was about to say something harsh and biting. Root wanted her to. She wanted to feel the sting of her words, but what she was left with was something resigned and weary.

“I’m not,” said Shaw. “I’m done.”

“Well that makes two of us,” said Root, her voice dipping low as all the anger seemed to escape with her words, leaving her empty. Something flashed across Shaw’s face, something dark and quick, too fast for Root to see. She wondered what her own face looked like. She had been trying to avoid looking at her own reflection recently and didn’t know if something else had beaten the exhaustion for centre point on her features.

Root didn’t know what else to say and so, it seemed, neither did Shaw. They stood there, staring at each other in silence like two strangers. And maybe that’s what they were now. Root realised then, with the full weight of a bullet slamming into her, that it was over between them. She didn’t know how to fix it and didn’t think she ever would. A bullet piercing its way through her chest was less painful than this, Root was sure. For a moment, she struggled to get the air back into her lungs.

Ignoring the pain, Root focused on being angry instead. Angry that Shaw didn’t trust her to do the right thing by Gen. Even angrier at the stoicism that radiated off Shaw as if this was all just a mild inconvenience that was easy to ignore.

As if Root had never mattered to her in the first place.

The door to the waiting room slammed open and Root jumped, forgetting for a moment where they were. Gen stood in the doorway, her cheeks soaked with tears. The visit with her mother had gone as well as Root had feared, it would seem. Gen took one look at Shaw before quickly turning on her heel and running in the opposite direction. Root made to follow, but the hand Shaw held up, hovering just at her shoulder but hesitating before touching her, made Root still.

“Don’t,” said Shaw before following Gen out the door with a purposeful stride. Unsure of how well Shaw was about to handle this, Root decided to follow. Something stopped her before she reached the main door of the building.

She had expected things not to go well today, but that hadn’t stopped part of her from hoping that Gen would have come out of the visiting room unscathed. That something would have changed in the months since Root’s visit here. That she was wrong, that the hope seemed to have been sucked out of the room along with Gen and Shaw, left Root with a fury that made whatever remaining issues she still had with Shaw seem insignificant.

Through the glass panel in the door, Root could see outside. The sky clouding over with gun metal grey clouds, casting the world in shadow. Root felt like shivering just looking at it. There was no sign of Shaw or Gen, but Root knew they couldn’t have gone far. Knew that Gen would wait for her.

It was all she needed to make her decision and Root quickly turned around, heading for the sign in desk. She signed her name on the visitors form next to Gen’s and smiled at the guard as he let her through. He said something to her in Russia. Not understanding, Root ignored him and followed the route she had taken all those months ago. The Machine had guided her then. This time, on her own, Root didn’t feel nearly as confident as she walked down the long corridor with its drab grey walls.

But maybe being alone was for the best. She had to do this for Gen on her own.

Only about half the tables in the visiting room were occupied. The prisoners were dressed in all black. In fact, Root could spot no colour, as if someone had sucked the brightness out of the room. There was nothing cheery here; only bleakness and despair. Root hadn’t noticed it the first time. Perhaps her own darkness had made her blind to it.

Most of the tables were filled with two or three people: the inmates and their families. The lone occupant of the table in the far corner was staring blankly down at her hands resting on the table. Root recognised the nest of blonde hair and headed towards the inmate. She didn’t announce herself upon her approach, causing Elena Zhirova to jump when she took a seat.

Zhirova took one look at Root and let out a cold, humourless chuckle that crawled across Root’s skin.

“You.”

As with last time, her voice was heavily accented, but Root could detect the disinterest all the same.

“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” Zhirova continued.

_Perhaps not_ , Root thought, although she did not regret her decision. Gen needed closure and, despite the tears and the heartache, perhaps she had finally found it.

“You didn’t have to be so cruel,” Root began. Now that she was here, sitting down facing a woman she was slowly coming to despise, Root wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Zhirova scoffed. “Don’t pretend there isn’t a darkness hiding in your eyes,” she said stonily and Root struggled not to flinch. “You know cruelty all too well.”

“Not with her,” said Root. _Never with Gen_.

“No?” said Zhirova. “You gave her false hope. You allowed her to come here.”

“I told her the truth,” said Root. At the time - and now still - she had known it was the right thing to do.

“Maybe,” said Zhirova. “For all the good it has done.”

She spat down onto the floor then, muttering a curse in Russian that Root didn’t understand but could glean the meaning of from her tone easily enough. Root got the distinct impression that she had just been dismissed. Leaving was the last thing she was about to do, and she stared defiantly at Elena Zhirova until she got her attention again, matching her icy look.

“You’re right,” said Root. “I do know cruelty. I’ve dished out my fair share, _but,_ ” she added, looking Zhirova directly in the eye, “I’ve experienced true cruelty too. Enough to know the difference between when someone really just doesn’t give a shit and when they are _pretending_ to be cruel - for whatever reasons they might have.”

Zhirova stared at her blankly and, for a moment, Root almost believed that she really did just not give a damn.

“I think this,” Root continued, gesturing at Zhirova and her disinterested slouch and tightly folded arms, “is all an act.”

Silence surrounded them, the only sounds the dull throb of the conversations from the rest of the room. Root’s ears buzzed from it and she didn’t dare take her eyes from Gen’s mother.

“You should watch what you say _, govnosos_ ,” Zhirova spat.

“Why?” asked Root. “What are you so afraid of?”

Root watched the muscles on Elena Zhirova’s jaw clench tightly. “I am not afraid.”

Root didn’t believe her. Nor did she like the way her eyes darted about the room as if afraid they were being watched. Following her gaze, Root noted the security guard leaning against the far wall. For all appearances he looked bored, but Root thought she saw his eyes glancing in their direction every few minutes.

She was being paranoid. It was his _job_ to watch the inmates. He had every right to look their way.

“I think you’re lying,” said Root, turning back to face Zhirova. The smile that faced her across the table was unnerving, but Root didn’t dare turn away from it.

“The walls have ears,” Zhirova said. Root frowned and she sighed loudly as she looked at Root carefully for a few moments. It felt like she was being x-rayed from the outside in. Root struggled not to break eye contact, determined to show no weakness in the face of this woman. “Genrika… she asks too many questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Root asked. Gen had never mentioned wanting to ask her mother something.

“Questions she is not ready to hear the answer to.”

“You don’t know that,” Root said quickly. Defensively. It made Zhirova pause for a moment.

“You are right. I don’t,” she said. There was a hint of sadness to her voice that was detectable even through her heavy accent. Root wasn’t expecting it or sure what to do with it. “I don’t know my daughter. Not anymore.”

There wasn’t anything Root could say to that. She knew if she opened her mouth, nothing but a harsh retort would fall out.

_It’s your own fault,_ she wanted to scream. But it was an argument she didn’t want to start. Fruitless and more than likely just to leave her feeling angry and frustrated.

“But you do,” Zhirova continued. “You know my daughter.” It wasn’t a question, but Root found herself nodding anyway. “She trusts you?”

“Yes,” said Root. At least enough to ask Root to bring her here. At that age, Root herself had trusted no one and anything of importance that needed done, she had always done herself. She hadn’t needed anyone else back then and for most of her adult life she hadn’t either. But then she had come to rely on the Machine, on Harold and his team of former assassins. And she had thought that it would be so easy going back to relying on only herself. She was wrong and she wished suddenly, that despite what was ever going on between them, that Shaw was here with her now. Or even Harold. Anybody so she didn’t have to face this woman alone.

This was so much bigger than her or any mission they had ever faced. This was about _Gen._ This was important. The most important thing in Root’s life.

She hadn’t thought about it, about Gen, like that before. The realisation of it, so sudden, hit Root with such force that she struggled to breathe. Moving to her feet before she could think about it, the chair screeched loudly against the floor as she pushed it away. Root desperately wanted to get out of there. To find Gen and make sure she was okay.

“Wait,” Zhirova said and Root stilled. She couldn’t decipher the look on her face; a mixture between what looked like fear and resignation that Root wasn’t sure she trusted. Normally, reading people, discovering their flaws, their weaknesses, was so easy for Root. But with Elena Zhirova she wasn’t sure where she stood.

“Perhaps you will make a better _mamochka_ that I ever could.”

Root frowned, watching as Zhirova put a hand down her black jumpsuit, pulling a folded piece of paper out of her bra. She slid it across the table towards Root, fingers trembling slightly and eyes glancing nervously towards the guard.

“For Genrika,” Zhirova murmured. “The answers to her questions. If you truly believe she is ready.”

Root nodded and quickly slipped the piece of paper into her pocket without looking at it. She glanced at the guard to see if he had seen her. He had moved from his position at the wall and Root realised that the visiting hour was over and people were filing out the door she had come through.

Root took one last look back at Elena Zhirova and where there was once nervousness and perhaps fear, now there was only the cold, hard indifference that could only come from learning to survive in prison.

The crowd of visitors slowly made their way out of the visiting room. They were too slow and although Root kept up a display of serene calm, inside she was impatient to leave this place and never come back.

It wasn’t until she was outside, the mild air whipping at her face, that Root took out the slip of paper from her pocket and unfolded it with trembling fingers. It was frayed at the edges, like it had been written a long time ago. Disappointment flooded her as she stared uncomprehendingly at the words written in messy Russian. She forced herself to push the feeling aside, just as she forced herself to slip the letter back into her pocket. For she had no doubt that was what it was. A letter perhaps written out of guilt like Root herself had once done. Perhaps there were answers to Gen’s questions to be found there. Whatever they were, Root wasn’t sure she liked it. Not if Gen had deliberately not told her about it.

She was tempted to tear the letter up there and then, let the wind catch Elena Zhirova’s words only to be lost forever. Except she couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the right. But she also wasn’t ready to give it to Gen just yet.

*

Shaw found Gen sitting hunched over on a red brick wall out in front of the main prison building. She could hear her crying before she got close. Quiet sobs that left Gen’s breathing hitched and body trembling. Without saying anything, Shaw took a seat next to her. Staring ahead and watching the branches of a large oak tree sway in the light autumn breeze, she waited for Gen to calm down.

“You’re okay, kid,” Shaw said after a while. Even if Gen didn’t look okay now, Shaw knew she would be in time. Gen was a tough kid. She had already proved that more than once.

“What are you doing here?” Gen asked. “I didn’t want you here.”

Shaw sighed and looked away, fighting down the bitterness and anger that had been with her since figuring out where Root had taken Gen and why.

“You could have asked me,” said Shaw. She hadn’t meant the words to leave her mouth, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now.

“You would have just said no,” said Gen, angrily rubbing at her eyes.

“You don’t know that,” said Shaw.

Gen scoffed, not believing her and Shaw knew it was a lie.

She would never have brought Gen here. She would have put a stop to it immediately, hammered the futile hope out of Gen before things had gotten this far. Even if that meant Gen hated her for it.

“Let’s just get out of here,” said Shaw, shaking her head as she climbed to her feet.

“I’m not going with you,” Gen said defiantly, remaining absolutely still. Her voice was so haughty that she may as well have folded her arms and stuck her nose up into the air just to complete the look.

“Gen,” Shaw warned, in no mood to argue. She had no intention of staying in Russia any longer than necessary, even if that meant she had to drag Gen to the airport kicking and screaming.

“I’m _not_ going,” Gen repeated. “You can’t make me.”

Shaw clenched her jaw tightly. Her hands had tightened into fists without her realising and she took a deep breath, slowly uncurling them before she spoke.

“You can’t stay here,” Shaw said reasonably.

“Root can take me back,” said Gen. She was glaring at Shaw something fierce. For a moment, it was so strong, so _angry_ , that Shaw was taken aback by it. She had never seen Gen this way before and she wasn’t sure what to do next.

There were no words she could think of, no action she could take to make Gen come with her willingly. Anything she could do was likely to only make things worse.

Because isn’t that what she always did? Make things worse?

Whenever Gen was involved, Shaw only ever seemed to make a mess of things. Root had been right. It _was_ more convenient sending Gen away. Shaw had thought it was for her own good. That a good education at one of the best schools in the state, being away from the danger of their daily lives in New York was better for everybody. Gen especially.

She had been wrong. Gen needed more than that. More than Shaw could give.

That was why the thought had never occurred to Gen to ask Shaw to bring her here. She would have come by herself and perhaps it would have taken Shaw even longer to realise she was missing. If she hadn’t been so suspicious, so _angry_ , at Root, she would never have bothered to check up on Gen so soon.

Shaw had guessed right away why Gen had wanted to come here. She remembered reading Gen’s letter from Root about her visit here. How brutal Root had been with the truth. Not even that had dissuaded Gen from coming here. She had been angry. Angry that Root, knowing exactly what Gen was going to find here, had let her come anyway.

Perhaps she knew better than Shaw. Knew what was best for Gen. Root could be all Gen needed. All that Shaw couldn’t be.

Root would always be around as long as Gen was there too. They were inexplicably linked through this thirteen year old girl in a way neither of them could have predicted a year and a half ago.

Shaw understood that now. Could accept it.

But she didn’t have to like it.

“Look,” Shaw began, feeling Gen stiffen beside her as she sat down again. Now that she had spoken, shattering the silence between them, Shaw wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. In the light breeze, her words low and inadequate got lost amongst the rustling of the trees. She wasn’t sure Gen had even heard her. Or, if she had, whether or not she would even believe her. _Shaw_ wasn’t even sure she believed her own apology. She couldn’t be sure about anything anymore.

Gravel crunched beneath light footsteps and Shaw glanced over her shoulder. Root was walking towards them, arms crossed and shoulders hunched against the wind. She headed straight to Gen, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezing tight. Shaw glanced away, uncomfortable at the way Gen seemed to relax in her presence, her sobs quieting and her tears drying up.

“You okay?” Root asked. Gen nodded and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve before climbing to her feet. “Good.” Root smiled. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’ve got a rental parked out on the street,” Shaw offered, not sure what to make of the look on Root’s face. Like she was surprised Shaw was still here.

As if she had anywhere else to be right now.

“No,” said Gen. “We’re getting the train back. I already bought the tickets.”

She stared imploringly up at Root, purposely ignoring Shaw. This wasn’t about some stupid train ticket already bought and paid for. There was something childish about the way Gen was determined to go against Shaw.

Shaw didn’t know when she had become the bad guy. Why Gen had chosen now, of all times and places, to become so rebellious. All she knew was that it left a bitter, angry taste in her mouth.

“You are getting in that car,” Shaw said tightly. “And I’m taking you straight back to New York.”

“No,” said Gen, glaring now.

“It’s not up for discussion,” Shaw snapped.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes I can,” said Shaw.

“Hey,” said Root, when Gen opened her mouth to say something else. She placed the palm of her hand flat against the nape of Gen’s neck and it seemed to calm her down. She glared at Shaw, almost daring her to continue arguing. It wasn’t until then that Shaw realised how stupid she was being getting into a petty argument with a thirteen year old.

“The next train doesn’t leave for another hour,” Root said reasonably. “So how about we go get something to eat before we decide.”

For a moment, it seemed like Gen was going to argue some more. She still looked angry and defiant until Root stared at her pointedly and she finally gave in.

“Okay,” said Gen, shrugging away from Root’s touch and shuffling down the path without bothering to wait for them.

Root’s pointed look turned to Shaw.

“Fine,” Shaw huffed, following Gen with Root close behind. She could _feel_ the smugness radiating from Root and stubbornly ignored her until they were out on the main street.

They headed towards a fast food place not too far from the train station. Shaw left Root and Gen to order and find them a table and stepped outside to call Finch to check in.

“She’s okay,” said Shaw, keeping one eye on Gen and Root through the window.

“And Ms. Groves?” Finch asked.

“She’s still here,” said Shaw.

“I meant is she all right,” said Finch.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care?”

“Well, you didn’t…” Finch began cautiously, “you know…”

“Shoot her in the face?” Shaw said flatly. “No. Not that I didn’t want to,” she muttered.

“Hm,” Harold hummed under his breath, like he was expecting the violence to come sooner rather than later anyway. He had wanted to come to – perhaps to stifle Shaw’s temper – but there were numbers to save. There were always numbers to save and not even Harold Finch could be in two places at once.

“Relax, Finch,” said Shaw. “Everything’s fine.”

“If you don’t mind, Ms. Shaw,” he said. “I’ll relax once Genrika’s back on American soil. The next flight to New York doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, your time.”

“Well I guess we’re stuck here for the night then,” said Shaw, hanging up and stepping back inside.

The 0ther two were chatting easily as Shaw approached, but when she sat down, Gen fell silent and refused to acknowledge her. They ended up eating in awkward silence. Normally, Shaw wouldn’t have minded. In fact, she would give anything for it. But right now, it left a bad taste in her mouth, that silence, and she ended up leaving most of her meal uneaten. So unlike her and such a waste.

“Now what?” said Shaw once Gen was finished eating and rolled her eyes when she was ignored.

“How about since Gen would rather take the train,” said Root, “and you refuse to let us out of your sight, we all take the train.”

Shaw sighed. The stupid train would be quicker. “Fine,” she said.

Although Gen didn’t look too pleased about this resolution, she nodded.

“Good,” said Root. “It’s settled.” She looked far too pleased with herself and Shaw narrowed her eyes, unable to tell if it was all an act for Gen’s benefit or if she was up to something else.

Shaw wasn’t looking forward to a three hour train ride with more awkward silence in a confined space. So when Root and Gen sat down next to each other, Shaw was glad to go find her own seat a little further down the train. She kept the two of them in sight, but doubted they could give her the slip now.

Shaw never did well on long journey’s, boring easily. She wished she had a book or a magazine or something to keep her occupied. Instead, she played a few games of solitaire on her phone before growing bored and giving up, staring through the window and watching the bland scenery go by.

She must have dosed off at some point, snapping her eyes open suddenly and finding the landscape beyond the train dimmer as the evening drew closer. Yawning, Shaw stretched in her seat and glanced over to where Root and Gen were sitting. Root’s seat was empty. She must have gone to the bathroom and Shaw found herself getting up and moving towards Gen to take the now empty seat.

“Hey,” she said quietly, unsurprised when Gen stared determinedly out of the window as she ignored her. Shaw sighed. “Not going to make this easy for me, huh?”

“Nope,” said Gen.

Shaw chewed the inside of her cheek, choosing her next words carefully. “Look,” she began. “I get why you never came to me about this. And you’re right, I wouldn’t have let you come here.”

Still nothing from Gen. Shaw stared at the seat in front of her, eyes tracing the pattern of the red and blue fabric that could be found on any train across the world.

“And I know,” Shaw continued, swallowing as words became more and more difficult to find, “that you haven’t been happy for a while now.”

Gen shifted slightly in her seat. She still said nothing, but Shaw could tell she was listening carefully.

“But once we’re back in New York, I’m gonna do something to change that.”

“How?” Gen asked, picking at the rubber seal at the bottom of the window with her fingernail.

Shaw shrugged. “I dunno. You can spend more weekends in the city or…”

“Or what?” Gen asked when Shaw remained silent.

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something, okay?”

It felt like an empty promise, the words sounding meaningless as they left her mouth. But she meant it with everything she had.

 “Okay,” Gen said eventually, finally turning away from the window and giving Shaw a small smile. Shaw smiled back – but for only a moment before she plastered her usual neutral expression back on her face.

“Everything okay over here?”

Shaw glanced up. Root was hovering over her, eyes scanning over Gen like she was hunting for signs that Shaw had upset her further. Satisfied with whatever she saw, Root turned her attention to Shaw.

“Everything’s fine,” Shaw said, feeling Gen nodding beside her. A flash of annoyance burned through Shaw that Root had even dared ask. She wondered when their roles had been switched. When Root got to be the one worrying about Gen and what Shaw could possibly be doing to put her in harm’s way.

“Good,” said Root, flashing them both a quick smile before settling herself in Shaw’s seat further down the train.

It wasn’t until she was sitting down, out of sight, that Shaw realised it was the first smile she had seen from Root that didn’t look forced or faked.

*

It was late evening by the time they reached Root and Gen’s hotel. When Shaw went up to the reception desk, she discovered that there were no more rooms available. Before she could start brainstorming other ideas, Gen suggested Shaw just share the room with them.

Perhaps it was a bad idea – if the sceptical look Root shot her was any indication – but Shaw didn’t want to shake whatever tentative bridge of peace she had forged with Gen.

Gen grinned, pleased by her decision to stick around with them. She looked happier than she had been all day and Shaw found she could only follow Gen to the elevator.

“It’s fine,” Shaw muttered to a still doubtful looking Root. “I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

“There’s no floor space,” said Root. “You’re small, but not _that_ small.”

Shaw chose to ignore that comment. “Bathtub then.”

“There isn’t one.” Root stepped into the elevator after Gen, turning around and raising her eyebrow at Shaw challengingly. Shaw wasn’t about to back down now, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable the rest of the night was sure to be.

“Great,” Shaw muttered as the elevator doors slid shut. She decided it was best for everyone if she just pretended the smirk on Root’s face didn’t exist. Even though it didn’t disappear until they were out of the elevator and Root was unlocking the hotel room door.

Root hadn’t been kidding about the lack of floor space. There was barely enough room to walk let alone lie down. The majority of the room was taken up by the twin beds, pushed together tightly in the middle of the room.

Shaw was grateful when Gen climbed onto the middle of the two beds, kicking off her shoes and turning on the TV. She just hoped that was where she would stay and glanced uncertainly at Root before taking a seat next to Gen. She slouched out of her jacket, tossing it aside and kicking off her shoes like Gen had done.

“What are you watching?” Shaw asked, watching out of the corner of her eye as Root sat down on the other side of Gen.

“I think it’s supposed to be a soap opera,” said Gen. “It’s kinda dumb.”

_Yeah,_ Shaw agreed, _especially when the goddamn sound is turned off._ Except Gen seemed to prefer it that way and, soon, she had loosened up a bit and started giving her own commentary of what was going on. Most of it was ridiculous and it wasn’t until a light chuckle sounded from Root that Shaw sat up and glared in annoyance.

“What?” said Root, biting her lip to stop from laughing. “It’s funny.”

“It’s stupid,” said Shaw. “Stop encouraging her.”

Root rolled her eyes. “It’s fun,” she insisted. “You should try it.”

“No,” said Shaw stubbornly, folding her arms and staring pointedly at the garish wallpaper. She cringed every time Root or Gen laughed and had to grit her teeth so hard it hurt when Root decided to join in. “You’re both idiots,” she muttered darkly.

This continued for the rest of the night, much to Shaw’s disgust. Gen’s storytelling got more and more elaborate, especially with Root’s input. Whenever a programme ended, Gen would just change the channel to find something else to mock.

“You guys do this a lot?” Shaw asked, knowing it was a dumb question before she had even asked it. There hadn’t exactly been a lot of opportunities in the last year for them to watch TV together.

“Nope,” said Gen.

“It’s kind of a new thing,” Root added, looking at Shaw almost like she was looking for her approval or something and worried she wasn’t going to get it.

It was nearing midnight before Gen’s head started drooping and she eventually fell asleep, snoring softly between Root and Shaw. She looked peaceful when she was asleep. Shaw could see no trace of the heartbreak and despair that had taken over her earlier in the day.

“She’ll be okay,” Root murmured, brushing away some of the hair out of Gen’s face as she lay propped on her side with one elbow. The gesture was so tender, so unlike Root and how vicious Shaw knew she could be, that she had to look away.

“Yeah,” Shaw breathed out. Gen was going to be okay. She had to be. “We should probably get some sleep. We need to be up in six hours.”

“Right,” said Root, licking her lips. Instead of settling down to sleep, she sat up. Slipping a hand into her pocket, Root pulled out a folded slip of paper and handed it to Shaw.

“What’s this?” Shaw frowned.

“From her mother,” Root explained.

“You talked to her?” Her voice was louder than intended and Gen snorted, shifting slightly before settling back to sleep.

Root nodded and Shaw found she wasn’t surprised. Root had taken a hell of a long time to follow them out of the prison.

“What is it?” Shaw asked, quieter this time as she unfolded the paper.

“She said Gen was asking questions,” Root said. “I think it’s about her father.”

Shaw stared at the foreign words, saying nothing for a moment as she listened to the sounds of Gen’s breathing, felt the heat radiate off her where she was pressed up against Shaw’s side.

“Why are you giving this to me?” Shaw asked.

Root shrugged. “I figured… you should decide if and when we give it to her.”

“ _Now_ you’re looking for my input?” Shaw whispered angrily. “You couldn’t have thought of that _before_ you whisked a thirteen year old away to Russia?”

Something in Root’s face hardened and she got up from the bed abruptly without a word, shutting herself in the bathroom before Shaw could even blink.

Shaw shoved the letter from Gen’s mother into her pocket and followed Root without thinking. She didn’t know if she was angry or annoyed that Root seemed to be angry or an odd combination of both. Whatever was building up a storm inside of her was loud and insistent and it took Shaw all of her self-restraint not to slam the door shut behind her.

Root took one look at her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands at the sink before closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

“I’m not doing this, Shaw,” Root said quietly. Her voice sounded flat and empty and tired, making Shaw think she had imagined that anger on her face before.

“Doing what?” Shaw asked.

“Arguing,” said Root, opening her eyes and turning to face Shaw, “with you. I told you. I’m done.”

“Done?” said Shaw.

“Yes,” said Root. “Done arguing. Done apologising. I can’t do this anymore.”

“And you think I can?” said Shaw, taking a furious step closer.

“I don’t know, Shaw,” said Root, licking her lips as she looked away. “I don’t know what to think. One minute you’re mad at me and the next you’re kissing me. So, tell me,” she said, eyes meeting Shaw’s again, “what am I supposed to think? What do you want?”

Her words sparked something within Shaw, raging against the storm that was already surging. It was so _loud_ that Shaw couldn’t distinguish it, couldn’t separate any of it. There was no meaning, only chaos. All Shaw could do was look away from Root, shut it all down until it was calm enough for her to think and see and _breathe_.

“I don’t know,” said Shaw honestly.

Clearly, that wasn’t what Root wanted to hear. She shook her head, arms folded across her chest defensively.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said eventually, her voice small and light like it could break into a million pieces at the briefest of jolts. “I guess that means we really are done.”

“Root,” said Shaw, surprised to find her own voice just as small. Just as _fragile._

“We should get some sleep,” said Root, pushing herself from where she was leaning against the sink and moving towards the door.

“Wait,” said Shaw, almost desperately as she grabbed onto one of Root’s wrists, as she pulled Root towards her and brought their lips together.

This wasn’t what she had intended on doing. She had just wanted to say something – anything – to stop Root from walking out that door. But she had used up her quota of words already today and kissing Root seemed like the next logical thing to do.

When Root remained stiff against her, Shaw realised kissing her was the last thing she should have done. Then Root was kissing her back, soft and gentle like she wasn’t sure what she was doing. Which was okay, because Shaw wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing either.

Her hands moved automatically to Root’s waist, one of them sneaking its way under Root’s clothes, seeking familiar warm skin. Almost foreign now, after so long. Shaw had barely touched her when Root froze, shoving Shaw abruptly away from her.

“Don’t touch me,” Root screamed at her.

“What the hell, Root?” said Shaw, head and back throbbing from hitting the wall when Root had pushed her away.

Root didn’t answer her. Her entire body shook as she slid to the floor.

“Root,” said Shaw, reaching out without thinking.

“Don’t touch me,” Root cried. “Don’t.”

“Root,” said Shaw quietly, fearful of startling her. “It’s okay. I’m not him.”

Root looked up at her sharply. That hard look slipped back into place, almost believable if it weren’t for the tears brimming in Root’s eyes.

“Get out,” she said icily.

Shaw opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She wasn’t good with comforting words. And even if she had been, she wasn’t sure there were any for this.

“ _Go._ ”

Nodding, Shaw did as she asked, closing the door quietly and leaning heavily against it. She inhaled sharply and quickly glanced over to the bed. Gen was still fast asleep, undisturbed by Root’s outburst and, for once, Shaw was glad of her ability to sleep through a four alarm fire at an oil refinery.

Of all the things Shaw had been expecting upon her arrival, it wasn’t this. Guns and blood and fists and probably more arguing, yes. But this… _this_ she didn’t know how to deal with. There was nothing from her many years of training that could have ever prepared her for this.

The room felt hot and stifling, almost like those deep red walls were sucking all the life out of the room, suffocating her. She had to get out. Had to go _do_ something.

There was nothing she could do for Root. She knew that. Whatever was going on with her, what had happened with Jason and whatever else she had gone through this past year... there was nothing Shaw could do to help her. Root had to work through it on her own. All Shaw’s presence seemed to do was make it worse.

Root was right. Maybe they were done.

For good this time.

Slipping on her shoes and picking up her jacket from where she had tossed it aside earlier, Shaw pulled it on as quietly as possible. Gen was still fast asleep and Shaw wanted her to remain that way. She hoped that whatever she was dreaming about – if she was dreaming at all – that it was more pleasant that her day had been.

Taking one last look at Gen and then the still shut bathroom door, Shaw quietly slipped out into the hallway. Lamps were lit along the walls, brightening that same deep red wallpaper with the ugly floral print that seemed to decorate the entire hotel. It was even in the stairwell, Shaw noted, as she took two steps at a time, too impatient to wait on the elevator.

The night was cold and dark, but the breeze from earlier that day had gone. Yet still Shaw shivered. She tried not to look back, only slipped a hand into her pocket as she reached for her phone. Instead she found the letter Root had entrusted to her. Shaw unfolded it and stared at the words again. This time, when she reached for her phone, she found it and dialled a familiar number, unsure if the line would even pick up.

She was unsure of the time in New York and Daniel picked up after several rings, like he had been about to let it go to voicemail and changed his mind at the last second.

“Hello?” He sounded like he had just woke up, groggy and croaky.

“Hey,” said Shaw. “I need you to meet me in Moscow as soon as possible.”

Skipping past the pleasantries seemed to wake Daniel up. He sounded more alert when he asked, “Did we get a number?”

Shaw clutched the letter in her hand tightly, crumpling the paper in her grip before quickly shoving it back into her pocket.

“Something like that,” she said. “Bring my gear and call me when you get here.”

She hung up before Daniel could reply and took one last look up at the hotel before turning on her heel and walking away.


	18. Part 2: Chapter 18

Root didn’t know how long she sat there, the tiled floor cold and hard beneath her body. However long it took for her to gather enough energy to stand and shuffle her feet through the bathroom door.

The bedroom was shrouded in darkness. The light pooling from the bathroom only illuminated so far and a lone figure lay on the bed, fast asleep. _Gen_.

There was no sign of Shaw and Root felt nothing but relief as she made her way over to the bed, collapsing onto it in exhaustion. She curled up next to Gen, seeking comfort from her warmth and watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. It was reassuring and so natural and soothing that Root was finally able to close her eyes without fearing what she would find when she fell asleep.

When Root awoke it was still dim outside, the sun barely in the sky as it pathetically attempted to seep through the gaps in the heavy curtains. She blinked the last remains of sleep away, trying to work out what had woken her when she felt something shift beside her. Glancing down, she found Gen yawning and stretching and muttering something about not wanting to get up.

Root spotted the phone clenched tightly in Gen’s hand and gently prised it out of her grip to check the time. It was just after six, the alarm on snooze. The noise of it must have shaken her out of sleep, but not quite penetrating the haze of her comprehension for her to wake up fully when it first went off. They were getting picked up by a taxi and taken to the airport in less than forty-five minutes, but getting up was the last thing Root wanted to do. Like Gen, she really wasn’t a morning person and staying in bed all day was a much better prospect than sitting on a plane for ten hours with Shaw wedged between them.

_Shaw._

_Shit,_ Root thought and quickly sat up. There was still no sign of her and Root had no idea where she could have gone, if she had come back at some point during the night. Her jacket was gone, her shoes. The only non-hotel standard issue belongings in the room was Gen’s suitcase wedge in the corner with her clothes spooling out of it.

Maybe she just needed time to… cool off after what had happened between them in the bathroom.

After Root had freaked out.

But she could still feel it even now. The sense of Jason’s hands all over her, unwanted and rough. Shaw could be rough too, but where she inflicted pain, there was always the reward of pleasure somewhere else. Jason had just wanted to hurt her and even though he hadn’t succeeded, she could still feel him on her, haunting her.

Root shivered, suddenly glad Shaw wasn’t there right now. She couldn’t face her, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

That kiss between them had been a mistake. A mistake Root couldn’t afford to let happen again. She couldn’t keep going around in circles with Shaw and, she suspected, Shaw couldn’t keep doing it either. It was better this way. For both of them.

“You need to get up,” Root murmured, gently nudging Gen on the shoulder. She received nothing but a grunt in response and decided to have a quick shower before attempting to wake her again.

Ten minutes later, Root was dressed, her hair still drying off. Gen was still fast asleep on the bed, having not moved an inch.

There was still no sign of Shaw and Root had to keep telling herself it wasn’t her problem. Had to keep fighting the worry away and pretend everything was okay.

“Hey,” Root said loudly, jolting the bed with her foot. A groan escaped Gen’s mouth and a muttered “five more minutes” mostly muffled by the pillow Gen’s face was currently buried in. “You’ve already had ten,” Root said, rolling her eyes.

“No I haven’t,” Gen muttered darkly. “That stupid shower rattles through the wall.”

“Gen,” said Root warningly. Her own exhaustion must have tempered her threat levels because Gen just ignored her. Okay, _now_ it was time for more drastic measures and Root didn’t feel the tiniest bit guilty about Gen’s cry of outrage when the bed sheets were suddenly pulled away from her and the cold morning air hit her skin. “Get up.”

Sighing haughtily and shooting Root a glare that was almost powerful enough to match one of Shaw’s, Gen finally got up and went to get dressed. Her look darkened as she passed Root and caught the smug smirk on her face, but Root couldn’t - and didn’t really want to - fight the amusement.

Thirty minutes later, Gen was dressed, her suitcase packed and they bundled downstairs to the lobby to wait for their taxi. There wasn’t time for breakfast in the hotel restaurant, much to Gen’s outrage.

“Well you shouldn’t have taken so long to get dressed,” Root scolded as she handed their room key over to the women behind the reception desk. “We’ll get something at the airport.”

“Fine,” Gen grumbled, lifting up her backpack when they were ready to go. “Hey,” she said suddenly, glancing around the lobby. “Where’s Shaw?”

Root bit her lip, unsure how to answer. The simple answer was that she didn’t know, but she didn’t want to get into a conversation about why, exactly, Shaw had disappeared in the middle of the night.

“I’m sure she’ll meet us at the airport,” Root said eventually.

Gen looked at her unconvincingly, but didn’t protest when Root ushered her outside and into the waiting taxi. They were running fifteen minutes late and at this rate, they would barely catch their flight let alone have time for breakfast.

As soon as Gen plonked herself down in the backseat of the taxi, she fell asleep with her head resting against the window and didn’t move again until Root prodded her awake when they were a few minutes away from the airport. She seemed in a much better mood waking up this time around and practically jumped out of the taxi, swinging her backpack over one shoulder.

“Check-in desk is this way,” Gen said, leading Root in the right direction.

Root followed, keeping one eye on Gen. Most of her attention was on scanning the crowd. The airport was just starting to get busy, but not too crowded where it was impossible to pick out any individuals. But no matter how hard Root looked, she couldn’t spot dark brown hair and grumpy features anywhere.

“Maybe she already went through security,” Gen suggested. Root smiled reassuringly, gesturing for Gen to turn around so she could take their passports out of the front pocket of her backpack.

“Maybe,” she said. Even before the word had left her mouth, Root knew it was a lie. She didn’t think Shaw was anywhere in the airport. Or that she was on her way here now. But at that moment, with Gen looking so hopeful and content and definitely keeping yesterday out of her mind, Root found that she couldn’t say what she suspected.

That Shaw was gone.

And she had no idea where she was or when she would be coming back.

They loaded up Gen’s backpack full of snacks for the longer journey before rushing through security and towards their terminal. A queue had already formed; Root made to join the end of it but Gen wandered past, looking up and down the line of people until her head slouched down in defeat when it became quickly apparent that Shaw wasn’t there.

“She’ll be here,” Gen said determinedly, joining Root at the end of the queue. Root said nothing and kept Gen close with a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her forward when the line moved. The gate loomed nearer and Gen became more and more anxious; shifting on her feet and biting her lip.

They were last in line and when it was almost their turn to hand over their boarding passes, Gen stepped away from the gate, out of Root’s reach as she desperately scanned the area for Shaw.

“Sweetie, we’re going to miss our flight,” Root said quietly as the line dwindled down. There were only about three other people left now.

“Where is she?” asked Gen. She looked so small and lost that Root had to swallow hard before she spoke.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. There were no lies she could tell to make Gen feel better. Nor could she tell Gen the truth of what had transpired last night. She wasn’t sure Gen would understand. Shaw needed space and Root was sure she would be back in New York soon enough with her usual stoicism, determined to ignore Root. “But she knows where to find us. Come on,” she added, guiding Gen back towards the gate. She handed over their boarding passes, smiling at the women with a pleasantness that was forced and unbearable. She didn’t look back, shoved down the hope that Shaw would arrive at the last minute with a half-eaten sandwich in her hand to explain her lateness away.

But hope was ridiculous. Hope was futile, and there was nothing she could do stop Gen from taking one last look behind her as they walked through the departure gate.

*

“Ms. Groves,” Harold said in greeting.

Root tried not to flinch. He looked sincere enough, but something about the way he looked past her, rather than at her, was wary and unnerving. She wondered how long he had been at the airport, waiting for them to arrive. The lines under his eyes were deeper than she remembered and she couldn’t be sure if the difference was recent or another thing she had missed during her year away.

“Genrika,” he added. Gen shied away from him, half hiding behind Root like a scared kid half her age afraid of the monster underneath her bed.

“Hey,” she said meekly, staring down at the floor. She had been worried about his reaction, asking Root during their flight how mad he might me on a scale of one to ten. Gen was betting on twelve, despite Root’s assurances that Harold was all bark and no bite. For the most part, anyway. She had no doubt he could be ruthless if he wanted to be. But it wasn’t Gen that needed to be afraid of that, afraid of him.

Root wasn’t _afraid_ of him, per say. He could, however, make her plans to stay in New York and be there for Gen in whatever way she could more difficult. If he wanted to.

“I trust you had a pleasant flight?” asked Harold.

“It was okay,” Gen muttered.

“And your trip overall?” he asked, although Root was sure he already knew just _how_ well Gen’s visit with her mother had gone.

Gen shrugged and didn’t say anything.

“As well as could be expected,” Root answered for her. She held Harold’s gaze and hoped he would drop the subject for now. Gen didn’t need to relive that experience just yet. Or ever, if she could avoid it.

“Well,” said Harold, addressing Gen once again, “I do hope that puts any more notions of international flights out of your head.”

Gen frowned at him. “It wasn’t a notion. I knew what I was doing.”

Harold looked sceptical as he glanced from Gen back to Root.

“Be that as it may,” he said. “You’re thirteen years old. You have school. You can’t just go running off in the middle of a semester. Or any time, for that matter,” he added hastily.

“I know how old I am,” Gen said haughtily. “I’m not a little kid.”

“No,” Harold agreed. His head ducked lower and his features drooped for a second. “You are growing up far too fast, Genrika.”

“I’m supposed to,” she said, but that only seemed to make Harold look even more saddened.

Root had never seen him like that before. Not about Gen. There was a friction between the two that had always been there, but something held the two of them together despite that. He may have been displaying his favourite disapproving frown, but Root got the impression that their little trip had worried Harold greatly. He cared about Gen, felt responsible for her wellbeing and would have, no doubt, blamed himself if anything had happened to her.

That wasn’t something Root had considered. When she had agreed to take Gen to Russia and they embarked upon their excursion, all she had been thinking about was how angry everyone was going to be. At her.

And they were. Shaw had been, at least. But, although Shaw tried her damnedest to hide it, like Harold, she too was worried about Gen. Probably more worried than they had ever been.

“Where’s Ms. Shaw?” Harold asked, glancing behind Root as if he were expecting to appear from baggage claim.

Behind Root, Gen stiffened. They had avoided discussing Shaw for most of their flight. Well, _Root_ had avoided it and Gen, perhaps sensing her mood on the subject, hadn’t brought it up.

“I don’t know,” said Root, meeting Harold’s gaze. He looked surprised for a moment. It seemed Shaw hadn’t told him where she was going either. She hadn’t told anyone.

“Well, come along,” Harold sighed eventually. If he was worried about Shaw, he didn’t let it show. “Let’s get you back to school.”

“Do I have to?” Gen asked, shuffling her feet along to follow Harold out of the airport.

“Yes,” said Harold. “You’ve missed enough days already.”

“Fine,” Gen huffed. “But can we stop by Shaw’s place first? I left some stuff there.”

“Very well,” said Harold, sighing dramatically and smiling slyly when Gen rolled her eyes at him. He paused as Gen moved on up ahead, turning back to face Root. She had spent most of the conversation by Gen’s side and now that she was on the move and ready to get on with her life, Root wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to push too hard. Not yet. Not after what she had done. There hadn’t been an opportunity to explain her side of the story yet and she was expecting Harold to order her to stay away from Gen. So she remained hovering in the arrivals lounge, feeling out of place and alone.

“Ms. Groves?” Harold asked hesitantly. Root glanced up at him sharply, biting her lip to cover up how startled she was. “Do you need a ride?”

Root looked at him and could see the wariness still sitting heavily on his face. But he was willing to try. Perhaps only for Gen’s sake, but he was willing. And Root had to be willing too.

She nodded, a small smile bouncing on her lips as she followed him out of the airport and toward his car.

*

Harold attempted to make small talk, giving up eventually sometime around passing through Holland tunnel and entering Manhattan. They spent the rest of the journey in silence. Root glanced over her shoulder every now and then to watch Gen staring morosely out the window. She didn’t look happy about being back in New York and didn’t even perk up when she disappeared into Shaw’s apartment building to go get her things.

Now, in the silence of the car, just her and Harold, it was probably a good time to attempt to explain herself. Except she didn’t know how. She felt like Harold would only ignore her, see the worst of what he wanted to see. It became unbearable, that silence. Root was unsure how long they sat there, the two of them. She wished Gen would hurry up and wondered what could possibly be so important that it couldn’t wait until another time.

“I’m going to go check on her,” said Root, getting out of the car before Harold could protest. She slammed the door shut behind her, louder than intended and headed inside the building.

Gen had left the front door ajar. No doubt, if Shaw were here now, she’d have a lecture on safety and security and common sense on the tip of her tongue. Root shut the door quietly and stepped further inside the apartment. It was dark; the blinds still closed in Shaw’s haste to come find them. As usual, the place was pristine. Like no one lived here at all. The only signs of life seemed to emanate from Gen’s room.

“Whatcha doin’?” Root asked, leaning against the door frame as she watched Gen sitting on the floor by her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Gen shrugged and when she didn’t look up, Root sighed and took a seat next to her. “Worried about going back to school?”

Another shrug.

“You can’t stay here forever, you know,” said Root. She was starting to wonder if Gen had been lying about needing to pick up some of her things.

“Why not?” said Gen. “I can stay here and so can you. And when Shaw gets back, we can-”

“Gen,” said Root, quietly but firmly. “You can’t.”

“But-”

“I know, sweetie,” said Root sadly. She brushed away some of the hair out of Gen’s eyes. “But-”

“But what?” said Gen, angrily shrugging away from Root’s touch. “Because Harold says so? Why do you guys always have to do what he says?”

“That’s not true,” said Root. They didn’t _always_ do what Harold wanted. At least Root didn’t anyway. Shaw was more inclined to follow his lead than Root had ever been.  But when it came to Gen… Root was more wary of defying him.

“Then why are you making me go back there?” Gen asked.

Unsure what to say, Root settled on reaching out to Gen again. She was expecting to be given the brush off, but Gen let her put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close.

“It’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” said Root. Her assurances felt weak and futile. It was a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. But she was going to try. “You know if you ever need anything up there, all you have to do is call and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay,” Gen muttered.

“It’s going to be okay,” Root repeated, pressing her lips against the top of Gen’s head. She knew this wasn’t just about school. Knew that, in the aftermath of her mother’s abandonment and Shaw’s disappearance, that she was worried about it happening again.

And it wasn’t like Root had the best track record of late for staying put.

But she couldn’t run anymore. She was tired of running. Had been for a long time. She had something to stay for now that was perhaps more scary, more overwhelming, than anything she had ever faced in her life.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Root promised. This was one she felt like she could keep.

“Good,” Gen said, shifting so that she could hug Root properly.

In her arms, Gen was warm and soft. She felt small like the kid she was and Root felt a rush of protectiveness pull at her until she thought she might fall apart from it. She squeezed Gen tighter, hoping to convey the sincerity of her promise. She wasn’t going to abandon her. Not again. Not ever.

“Gen?” said Root. Gen hummed into her ear. “Why is there a samurai sword poking out of your suitcase?”

“Oh,” said Gen, pulling away from her and hopping to her feet. “I got it for my birthday. Isn’t it cool?”

Root looked at her doubtfully as Gen brandished the sword excitedly, thrashing it through the air. The sharp point of it came within centimetres of the side of Root’s head. Ducking out of the way, Root wondered incredulously whose stupid idea that had been.

“Careful,” Root scolded. Gen dropped the sword to her side sheepishly, but the attempt to hide her smirk failed. Root climbed to her feet, glaring at the sword still gripped tightly in Gen’s hand.“Who got you that?”

 “Shaw,” said Gen, as if it were obvious.

_Why am I not surprised,_ Root thought.

“ _That’s_ what she got you for your birthday?” said Root.

“It’s cool,” said Gen, her features falling slightly at Root’s lack of enthusiasm.

“It’s dangerous,” said Root, feeling at her temple to double check that she was, indeed, unscathed.

“You’re not going to tell Harold, are you?” said Gen.

“No,” said Root. “Just try not to take anyone’s eyes out in future.”

Gen smiled. “I promise.” She put the sword back in her suitcase carefully. “Do you want to see what the others got me?”

Root raised an eyebrow, watching as Gen unwrapped one of her t-shirts to reveal a shining throwing star, its edges sharp and dangerous.

“That was from Daniel,” Gen explained. “John and Zoe got me this.” She held up a purple Taser and pressed the button on the side. It buzzed loudly in the quietness of the apartment.

“Very cool,” Root agreed. No wonder the others had kept this quiet from Harold. He would be furious.

Gen put her things away, carefully wrapping the sword and throwing star up in her clothes and zipped up her suitcase.

“That reminds me,” said Root. “I never got you anything.”

“You took me to Russia,” Gen said. “And you’re staying.”

“Still,” said Root, because she would have done those things anyway, regardless of whether or not it was Gen’s birthday. “I want to get you something.” Although she had no idea what she could get. All the good weapons seemed to be taken. But she wanted to get something different too. Wanted it to mean something.

“Okay,” said Gen. She was smiling now and for a moment, Root allowed herself to believe that she had forgotten all about her mother, her worries about school and what was to come.

*

Although she was reluctant, Gen had gone back to school without much fuss, making Root promise one last time that she was sticking around. That she wouldn’t be alone up there even if it felt like it for most of the time. Root made her promises with Harold hovering close by. She didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t want to see the doubtful look on his face.

She was going to prove him wrong. Prove them all wrong.

But now that Gen was gone, Root was at a loss. She had spent so much of the last few days focusing on Gen that now she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Her feet moved automatically, following Harold into the library and up to his office. He walked straight to his computer, taking his coat off and neatly folding it over the back of his chair.

“Ms. Groves?” he said, turning around to find her hovering uncertainly by a bookcase. “Was there something you needed?”

“I meant what I said, you know,” Root told him. “I’m sticking around. I’m going to be here for Gen.”

“Is that so?” said Harold. The scepticism in his voice grated on her nerves. “And how are you going to do that?”

“I-” Root began, faltering suddenly in the face of a question she had not yet thought of the answer to.

“That’s what I thought,” said Harold, taking a seat at his desk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Root asked. She knew Harold had every right not to believe her; that her track record didn’t exactly set her in a positive light. But she thought she had proven herself enough when it came to Gen.

Harold paused, staring at the blank computer screen before finally sighing and turning to face her.

“How do you expect to take care of a thirteen year old when you can’t even take care of yourself?”

“I know how to take care of myself,” Root said icily.

“Do you?” said Harold. He had given up all pretence of working at his computer and was back on his feet. “Where would you live? How would you pay for her school things? Ensure she eats properly? Sleeps? If you can’t even do these things for yourself…”

Root glanced at her feet. “I never…”

“Thought about it?” Harold finished. “You are so lost, Root. Without a purpose, without the Machine-”

“I am not lost,” said Root. She might not have heard from the Machine in days, might have spent the last year barely speaking to Her, but Root wasn’t lost. She _wasn’t_. “Gen is my purpose now.”

“She is not a mission,” said Harold. “She’s a person. A young girl. Root, I don’t think you realise-”

“I do,” said Root. “Better than you think.”

Harold sighed in defeat, but Root didn’t believe for a second that she had won this argument. She wasn’t sure if she ever would. Harold seemed determined to doubt her.

“Look,” he said eventually, “I understand you have only the best intentions for Genrika in mind, but I cannot allow you to interfere.”

“Interfere?” said Root incredulously.

“You ran away with a thirteen year old girl to Moscow!” Harold said. “That is not something well-adjusted people do.”

Root bit her lip, turning away from Harold so he couldn’t see the pain on her face. He was right. She couldn’t deny the truth of his words. The sharpness of them as they stung her flesh. For days, possibly even weeks or months, Root had been trying to tell herself that everything was okay. That _she_ was okay.

And she could have gone on believing that if she hadn’t had a meltdown in front of Shaw.

“I cannot even begin to imagine what you must have gone through,” Harold said, so softly that Root looked up at him quickly for fear that she was imagining things. “Losing Daizo,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion, “hunting down Jason by yourself. It couldn’t have been easy.”

Root said nothing. She couldn’t even _look_ at him and she wished he would shut up, wished the words would stop falling out of his mouth like he had no control over them. She didn’t want his pity. It was too late for pity and understanding.

“But I don’t think,” said Harold, “that you can take care of Gen until you’ve forgiven yourself for all that has happened.”

“Harold,” Root said. She could hear her voice breaking, could feel his name shattering in her mouth. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Start by finding somewhere to live,” Harold suggested. The sympathy had gone from his face and Root found it easier to meet his eyes this time. “Learn to live with yourself. For yourself. You don’t need the Machine telling you what to do. You don’t need a mission of vengeance. You just need to live.”

“Okay,” Root said. Her breath had gone shaky and she hadn’t realised she had started crying until she felt something hot and wet drip its way down her cheek. Harold was gracious enough to turn away and pretend he hadn’t noticed, moving back to his computer. The conversation was over. It was an ultimatum in a way. He had his conditions and if Root wanted to be all that she could for Gen, for however long she could, then she had to meet them.


	19. Part 2: Chapter 19

_Start by finding somewhere to live._

How hard could that be?

For fifteen years Root had never had a fixed place she could call home. Not even those six months living with Shaw had felt like home. It was close. The closest thing she had ever had and those last few weeks of summer, with Gen livening up the place, even more so.

But now she was on her own and the idea of finding her own place was scary and daunting. She wasn’t sure where to begin, but she had to do this on her own without anybody else’s help. Not Harold, not the Machine.

She could do this. She _had_ to do this.

Over the years, Root had faced more adversaries than she could count. Some just normal, everyday people that she had been hired to destroy their lives by stealing their money or even arranging a murder if it was necessary. Some were more deserving: Samaritan and Greer and anyone else the AI had under Its control.

And Jason.

Perhaps the worst.

But nothing seemed more terrifying than realtors.

Or, more specifically, Doris Periwinkle. Which _was_ her real name. Root had checked. She wore a bright pink woollen suit, her dark brown hair styled into a severe bun. She was the exact opposite of everything that Root was and Root found her incredibly annoying. With her bright, shining smile and chirpy attitude, Root felt exhausted. She couldn’t keep up. Especially when the conversation turned to mortgage payments and security deposits.

“Actually, I can pay for the whole thing,” said Root, cutting her off mid-sentence. They were in Doris Periwinkle’s office, as bright as her smile with the early morning sun piercing through the sky and penetrating through the window. The brightness and Doris’ simpering voice were starting to give Root a headache. The lack of sleep probably wasn’t helping either. She had spent the last two days not sleeping in hotel rooms, trying to devise a plan of action.

If being there for Gen meant having to own her own place, then buy a house she would.

“You mean the deposit?” said Doris with a frown.

“No, I mean the whole thing,” said Root. The frown on Doris’ face deepened remarkably. “In cash, if needed.”

“Cash?”

“Yes,” said Root. “I can pay extra for the furniture. Actually, that would probably be easier…”

“We don’t tend to… what I mean is…” Doris blundered. “People don’t normally do that.”

“Leave the furniture?” Root asked.

“Buy a house in cash,” said Doris.

“Oh,” said Root. Now that she thought about it, she realised how that must look strange. “I recently came into some money,” she said hurriedly. “Dead uncle.”

Well the dead part was mostly true. The uncle part… not so much. She wasn’t sure where the money had come from exactly. Not anymore. So much of it had been moved around over the years, switched between alias accounts to make the money untraceable that Root had lost track. Not a single cent of it had been earned by an honest day’s work and she felt suddenly nauseous at the thought of what she’d had to do to get that money.

“I see,” said Doris. The smile on her face was less bright than it once had been. “Well this isn’t normal procedure so I will have to get my manager to-”

“No, it’s okay,” said Root, rushing to her feet so fast that she sent her chair flying backwards so hard that it clattered to the floor. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“But-”

“I have to go,” Root murmured, feeling hot and sick as she stumbled her way out of the office.

It was too bright outside and she had to duck her head, close her eyes and force herself to breathe until it passed. It felt like it never would. Her stomach lurched and Root bent over, bringing up nothing but bile. She hadn’t eaten yet today and her stomach ached from it. But she couldn’t face food. Just the thought of it made her want to retch more.

She felt clammy, like her skin was too tight. She felt so dissociated from who she used to be that the world span.

But she couldn’t run from it. She never could.

There was so many things that she had done. None of them good. Most of them horrible. She couldn’t hide from it.

Not anymore.

*

Root awoke abruptly.

Dawn had barely broken outside from what she could see through the slats in the window, but inside it was shrouded in darkness. She sat up, peering through the dim to find the source of what had woken her.

A floorboard creaked. Somewhere close by.

Root reached for the gun under her pillow, gripping it tightly in her hand as she aimed it through the dark. Her hand shook, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or exhaustion or just this place seeping into her bones and taking everything out of her.

She listened carefully. The floorboards remained silent. Her imagination probably. Lack of sleep. Lack of everything.

“Ms. Groves,” said a voice in the dark.

Root let out a sigh of relief, blinking as the lights overhead were turned on. Bright and piercing.

“What are you doing?” Harold asked, standing stern and tall as he stared down at Root.

“Uh…” said Root. Realising she was still pointing a gun at him, she quickly lowered her hand and swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the makeshift bed. It was hard and unforgiving and Root could feel her back twinging from it. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” said Harold, eyebrows rising. He moved to the centre of the room, shuffling through the books on the table and frowning at their titles. “Because it looks like you are sleeping in the library.”

“Oh,” said Root. “Right.”

She had ran out of money three days ago. Using up the only cash she had left on her on hotel rooms. She hadn’t wanted to ask. Hadn’t wanted to be a burden. So she had waited until Harold and John had left for the night before sneaking in and collapsing, exhausted, onto the bed that had once been hers for a short time.

It had smelled like Jason - still did - and Root hadn’t slept much that first night. She snuck out at the crack of dawn before Harold came in and didn’t come back until she was sure he was gone.

Apparently she wasn’t up early enough today.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” said Root, staring down at her hands. She still held the gun in one of them and it suddenly felt heavy and cold. She let go of it, hiding it back beneath her pillow so she didn’t have to look at it.

“I see,” said Harold. He lifted one of the books from the table; a heavy hardback Root had been skimming through out of boredom last night when she couldn’t sleep. “I would have thought your past life would have accrued you with plenty of funds.”

Root looked away. “I do. I mean… I did. Once. Not anymore.”

She sighed, standing up so she could look for her shoes. Although Harold said nothing, his presence seemed to take over the room. She didn’t buy his fascination with Chaucer for a second.

“I gave it away,” Root admitted.

“I know,” said Harold, putting the book down and placing his hands in his pockets. “American Bipolar Foundation and the ACS. Both noble causes.”

Root looked up sharply. “Are you and the Machine spying on me?”

“Of course not,” said Harold. “The Machine is just… more talkative these days.”

“You’re talking to her?” Root felt a pang of jealousy that she quickly ignored.

“On occasion,” said Harold cryptically, watching as Root pulled her boots on. “You know,” he said, “when I suggested you find somewhere to live… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“I know,” said Root, clenching her teeth tightly. She finished tying up her laces and got to her feet. She wanted to get out of there. It was far too early and she was far too exhausted for this conversation. “I’m working on it.”

“Oh?” said Harold. “How?”

“I don’t…” said Root, shaking her head under Harold’s scrutiny. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“You are practically penniless,” Harold pointed out.

“I know,” said Root. Her grand plan for sorting out her life wasn’t going well. She thought it would be so easy. That Harold’s demands were ridiculous in their simplicity. She was wrong and now she was squatting in his library owning nothing but the clothes on her back. Which, when she thought about it, were actually stolen. Even the gun under her pillow was John’s.

She had nothing. _She_ was nothing. And Harold knew it.

“Actually, I was thinking…” said Root, biting her lip nervously. “Maybe I could help out… with the numbers. I could be one of the gang,” she added like it was some super-secret society and she had been desperate to join for years. Which wasn’t _so_ far from the truth. She had been standing on the outside, separate from the rest of them for so long. Even before her year away, before Daizo, she had never quite been part of the team.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Harold.

“But-”

“I don’t think you are ready,” he insisted. He said it like she never would be. “If something were to go wrong… if we were to lose someone…”

“You’re already assuming I’ll screw up,” said Root. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Not after everything that happened with Jason, with the ghost she had been chasing on her own for so long.

“I’m not saying you will,” said Harold softly. “But… you’re not ready.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” asked Root. She couldn’t stay in the library forever, she knew that. But she didn’t exactly have a lot of options.

“Get a job like everybody else,” Harold suggested.

Root snorted. “I haven’t worked a day in my life. The only thing I’ve ever been good at is hacking people.”

“Well I suggest you _don’t_ do that,” Harold said reproachfully. “Wanted ads,” he added, tossing a folded newspaper onto the table. She hadn’t even realised he had been holding it. The page was already open at the job section and Harold had circled a few of the advertisements in bright red pen. How long had he been planning this conversation?

“If you think I’m going to get a job at a make-up counter or something…” Root warned, lifting the newspaper up to have a look.

“Nothing quite so mundane,” said Harold. “But I’m sure you’ll find something suitable to your… ah, skills.”

“Hacking?” said Root sceptically. “In the _New York Post_?”

“No,” said Harold impatiently and gestured to the newspaper. “Just have a look.”

“Fine,” Root muttered. Glancing down, she noted that he had highlighted all the vacancies in IT, varying from small private businesses to more large scale companies. Tech support. And he said it _wouldn’t_ be mundane...

“In the meantime,” said Harold over his shoulder as he made his way out of the cage. “I have a perfectly good safe house you could stay at.”

“No,” said Root. “Thanks. But I’m fine here.”

“You don’t have to punish yourself,” said Harold quietly. She wondered if it was easier for him, now that he wasn’t looking at her, to be kind.

“I’m not,” Root insisted. “There’s just… too many memories in that safe house.”

Harold paused for a moment, glancing back at her. Like he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her. A lot had happened in this library too. It had been her prison. Perhaps it was again until she found her own place, while she was stuck in limbo. But she couldn’t face the safe house and what might haunt it.

Not yet.

Not ever.

“Fair enough,” Harold said eventually and limped his way out of the cage. “Oh,” he said, pausing once again. “I suggest you put Mr Reese’s gun back _before_ he gets in.”

Root smiled sheepishly and waited until he was out of sight, until his footsteps faded away like a distant echo, before allowing herself to sit down and sigh in relief. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting upon getting caught. Thrown out on the streets had been her first guess. Most definitely not a list of jobs to apply for. But it wasn’t like she had much choice. She needed the money. If she was going to sort her life out, she had to do it the right way. Without Harold’s charity or help. He had done enough; letting her stay here, giving her a chance…

Now she just had to _do_ it.

Which seemed easier said than done.

She had never been on a real job interview in her life. When she had been to one, either for a mission for the Machine or in her past life for whatever purpose, she had played the part of someone else. Now she had to be herself. She wasn’t even sure who that was.

There was an odd nervous flutter in her stomach, her fingers trembling slightly as she made a few phone calls and arranged some interviews for the following week. It felt strange, doing something so _normal_. She wasn’t used to it.

Feeling a bit steadier, a bit more awake despite the early hour, Root headed upstairs to Harold’s office. She had accomplished something that morning. Even if it was small, even if she hadn’t gotten a job yet, it felt like she was on the right track and her footsteps were light for it.

She clutched Reese’s gun tightly in her hand as she reached the landing, pausing at the sound of voices. They were talking in low, hushed tones and Root moved closer, careful of her step on the floorboards so they wouldn’t creak until she was near enough that she could make out what they were saying.

“So she’s staying here?” Reese was saying in his usual husky voice. Root thought she could detect a strain to it that wasn’t normally there. “In the library?”

“What would you have me do, Mr Reese?” said Harold. “Throw her out?”

There was silence for a moment, as if Reese was seriously considering that option. Then he said, “Shaw won’t be happy about this.”

“Ms. Shaw’s not here,” Harold pointed out testily. There was a loud thud, as if something heavy had just been slammed onto a desk. “And it’s my library. Therefore the decision is mine.”

“Fine,” said Reese, although he didn’t sound fine about it at all. “Have you heard from her?”

“No,” said Harold, sighing so loud that even Root could hear it from amongst the stacks of books.

“Daniel’s gone too,” said Reese. “I swung by his place the other day. There was no sign of him.”

“Then perhaps the Machine has them working numbers again,” said Harold.

“Perhaps?” said Reese. “Thought you guys were talking more.”

“We are,” said Harold. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m privy to everything.”

“Right,” said Reese, sounding unconvinced. Or perhaps it was worry she could hear in his voice. Root couldn’t be sure and she inched slightly to the left to get a better look at him, but only resulted in announcing her presence when the old floor creaked loudly beneath her.

She strolled calmly towards Harold’s desk, pretending she hadn’t been listening in to their conversation. Harold looked unsurprised to see her and she wondered if he had known she was there. John just looked annoyed, his face creasing into a glare when he spotted the gun in her hand.

“Is that my gun?” he said, pointing at it accusingly.

“You should be more careful where you leave your toys, John,” said Root, dangling the pistol in front of his face. He snatched it from her, teeth clenched together tightly as he hid the gun away in his coat somewhere.

“I’m gonna go watch our number,” he muttered at Harold. Giving Root one last scowl, he stomped out of the library.

“Always as charming as a Neanderthal, that one,” Root commented with amusement once Reese was out of earshot.

“Perhaps you should strive to contain yourself around Mr Reese, Ms. Groves,” Harold advised. He limped towards his glass board, sticking up a photograph of a woman in her forties. Their latest number, no doubt.

“Right,” said Root, rolling her eyes. “I forgot how sensitive he could be.”

“He has every right to be wary of you,” said Harold.

Root looked away. She didn’t want to rehash her past mistakes. Not again. Reese had never liked her, not after what she did to Harold. And she had always wondered if he was stung by how well she had played him as Caroline Turing.

They had forged an understanding of a sort over the years. A civility maintained at a clipped distance whenever they were forced to work together. For her part, Root had only done it because of Shaw. It would have been so much easier - much more _fun_ \- to go on calling him names and getting under his skin. But for some weird reason, Shaw and Reese were close. Shaw actually _liked_ him. And for the sake of everyone’s sanity during those six months they were together, Root had held her tongue.

Perhaps Reese had held himself back for similar reasons. Or maybe he was just a better person than she was. But the hostility was back and Root welcomed it. Hostility from John Reese was something she knew how to deal with. This weird, tough love thing she was getting from Harold was hard to take.

“Fine,” she said eventually. “I promise to be on my best behaviour around Mr Sensitive.”

Harold frowned disapprovingly at her as he limped back to his desk. “Was there something you needed?”

“Actually…” said Root, licking her lips.

“If you’re here to ask about working numbers,” said Harold, taking a seat, “the answer is still no.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask,” said Root. She waited until she had Harold’s full attention again before continuing. He looked up at her, eyebrows raised as he took a sip of his green tea. Steam puffed out of the paper cup and Harold grimaced as the hot liquid burned his tongue. “I was thinking, that maybe I could…”

“Yes?” said Harold, abandoning his tea for now.

“Maybe visit Gen this weekend?” said Root. “Get her away from that place for a bit. I don’t think she’s having a great time right now.”

“You’ve spoken to her?” said Harold.

“Every night,” said Root. Most of their conversations were long. Gen complaining in hushed tones about how she hated everything and everyone. Root thought she was mostly exaggerating, but the truth was hiding there somewhere, an anchor to her tales.

“Anyway,” she added, when Harold continued to stare at her blankly. It annoyed her that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. If he was just allowing her to ramble on only to shoot her down once she was finished. “I was wondering if - and I know I don’t have the best track record - if I could borrow one of your cars?”

“I see,” said Harold.

“It’s just… I think she needs to get away from there,” said Root. “For a while.”

“Very well.”

“W-what?” said Root, startled when Harold abruptly turned away from her and back to his computer.

“I’ll bring the car over first thing Saturday morning,” said Harold. He began to type away and Root knew the conversation was now over. It took her a moment to realise, to register what he had said and that he was allowing her to go. She hadn’t been expecting that so soon. She had refused to get her hopes up. Had prepared herself for disappointment. Now she felt frozen with anticipation.

“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling unable to express her gratitude. Words seemed inadequate and she didn’t dare push her luck by engaging him further in conversation.

Walking out of the library, Root didn’t see the smile on Harold’s face.

*

Saturday morning didn’t come quick enough. Root woke up at the crack of dawn, getting dressed in clothes that Harold had paid for and drinking coffee that John had left in one of the rooms they had converted into a makeshift galley kitchen. It wasn’t charity. She _was_ going to pay them back. Eventually.

She felt too tightly coiled with nerves to attempt breakfast and only managed to swallow down about a third of her coffee before the bitter taste turned cloying. She ended up pouring the rest of it down the sink and flicked through a book she wasn’t actually reading until it was lighter outside and nearer the time Harold said he was coming round with the car.

She headed downstairs and out onto the New York city street that was busy despite the early hour. Harold was waiting for her and so was someone else she wasn’t expecting.

“Lionel?” said Root. “What’s he doing here?”

“I ain’t exactly pleased to be here either, Butternut,” said Fusco, glowering at her as he leaned against a brown sedan that was several years old and rusting in places. Definitely not one of Harold’s vehicles.

“What’s going on?” Root asked, rounding on Harold. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Detective Fusco’s son has a hockey game not too far from Gen’s school,” Harold explained. “It seemed prudent that you carpool.”

“Carpool?” said Root sceptically.

“And I’m sure Genrika wouldn’t mind attending the game.”

“The kid likes hockey,” Fusco agreed. Root glared at him. That was news to her.

But Harold had made up his mind and Root could see no way around it. If she wanted to see Gen, then she would have to do so with Fusco in tow, like a small child who was too young to even cross the road by themselves. Regardless of whether she was happy about it or not.

Root shook her head. “Fine,” she said eventually. “Let’s just go.”

She moved around to the passenger side of the car, pausing with her hand reaching out for the door handle. Staring through the window, she felt irritation burn through her like violent, rippling waves.

“I don’t even get the front seat?” she said tightly.

Fusco shrugged at her from the driver’s door. “Lee called shotgun.”

With no choice but to sit in the back, Root got in and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Do you mind?” said Lionel irately.

“Not really,” said Root, scowling haughtily at him from the backseat. He shook his head at her and turned the key in the ignition. The engine flared to life and music blasted out from the speakers so loud that Root was tempted to shut her implant off so she didn’t have to listen to it.

_The Dixie Chicks? Really?_

“Sorry,” Fusco muttered, turning the volume down and checking his mirrors before pulling out onto the road.

“Hi,” said Lee politely, turning in his seat to smile at Root. She smiled back at him absently, wishing he would just turn around and leave her alone. He was dressed in his hockey kit already and looked more tired than she felt from being up so early.

Considering he was Lionel’s son, he was an okay kid and Gen seemed to like him. They had gotten on well together when they were at Coney Island, despite Lee being a couple of years older. It was definitely good for Gen, having a friend close to her own age. From what Root could glean, reading between the lines, Gen didn’t have very many - if any at all - at school. She couldn’t tell if that was from lack of trying on Gen’s part or if she just really didn’t fit in.

Root, unfortunately, had to suffer the Dixie Chicks for the rest of the journey. But when Lionel tried to sing along, Lee groaned loudly and turned the volume down so low that Root could barely hear it.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining for,” said Lionel. “I’ve got a beautiful singing voice.”

Root raised an eyebrow sceptically while Lee snorted. “Yeah right,” he said. “Cats screech better than you.”

Lionel waved his hand dismissively but didn’t try to increase the volume again and then proceeded to sulk for the rest of the journey until they reached Gen’s school.

Root had only been here twice. On both occasions it was to drop Gen off. A week and a half ago and last fall, that summer after Gen had stayed with them. When things looked bleak and dark and Jason was still hiding around every corner. He still was, in a way, but the rational side of her (or what was left of it) knew he was dead. That he couldn’t come back from the grave. Back then, before she had made her decision to leave, when she was too in shock to allow the fear to take over, she had deluded herself into thinking everything would be okay.

And perhaps it would have been, if she hadn’t fucked everything up with Shaw.

But she couldn’t think about Shaw and the murky, chaotically swirling water that separated them. She had to focus on Gen. Had to follow Harold’s ridiculous rules and restrictions. Had to suffer Lionel Fusco. Who, at least, gave as good as he got.

Gen was waiting for them when they arrived; sitting on a hard wooden bench in the entrance to her school. She jumped up immediately when she saw the three of them, rushing towards Root and entrapping her in a tight hug. Root squeezed back, but Gen let go of her quickly when a light cough sounded from somewhere behind them.

“Hey,” said Lee.

“Um, hi,” said Gen, her cheeks going slightly pink as she took a noticeable step away from Root.

“I’ll go sign her out,” said Lionel, rolling his eyes as he walked past.

_Sign her out._ That was another one of Harold’s restrictions. Gen’s school required an approved list of names of who could sign her out at the weekends. Root wasn’t on it. She felt a hot stab of jealousy at the thought that _Lionel_ was. But there was nothing she could do about it. Technically, Harold was Gen’s legal guardian, and he controlled whoever got on that list. Root doubted very much he would be putting her on it anytime soon. Not after Russia.

She still had a long way to go before she would regain Harold’s trust.

*

Hockey was not something Root had _ever_ been interested in. After half an hour of watching Lee Fusco’s team play - badly - she still wasn’t interested in it.

Lee slid along the ice, his hockey stick held out in front of him as he dodged the players of the other team. He was fast, manoeuvring a figure of eight around two players and stealing the puck. But he didn't notice the kid coming from his left until the last minute.

The two players rammed into each other and in one last ditch effort, Lee hit the puck with all the force he could muster. It sailed through the air, whizzing past the startled goalie’s head and into the back of the net.

Beside Root, Lionel groaned.

“What?” said Root. “I thought they were supposed to get the thing in the net.”

“Yeah,” said Gen, “but not in their own one.”

“Oh,” said Root. She turned back to Lionel with a smirk. “So… they suck, right?”

Lionel glared. “They’re not that bad.”

“There losing by ten points,” Gen pointed out. “But they could still come back from it,” she added hurriedly when Lionel turned his glare on her. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Don’t you want me to come with you?” Root asked as Gen climbed to her feet.

Gen rolled her eyes. “I’m thirteen. I know how to go the bathroom by myself.”

“I know,” said Root. “I just really don’t like hockey.”

But she wasn’t going to get out of it that easily, it would seem. This was so _not_ how she had envisioned her Saturday going. At least Gen seemed to be enjoying herself and Root couldn’t really complain about that.

By the time Gen came back, Lee’s team were down by another two points.

“They could still come back from this,” said Gen. Although her face was twisted with doubt.

“Who are you kidding,” said Lionel, shaking his head as the rival team scored yet another point. “They suck.”

Gen shrugged. “Hey, Root? Can I get some money for popcorn? If we are going to suffer, we may as well get something out of it.”

“Oh,” said Root, feeling futility through her pockets. “I don’t-”

“Here,” said Lionel, handing Gen a ten dollar bill. “Don’t spend all of it at once. Remember we’re going for pizza after.”

“Thanks,” said Gen and jumped to her feet, disappearing once again.

“You didn’t have to,” said Root, staring down at the ice. She could feel Lionel’s eyes on her and didn’t like the weight of his gaze.

“Glasses said you might be short of cash,” said Lionel.

“I’ll pay you back,” said Root. “For pizza too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lionel insisted.

“I’m not a charity case,” Root snapped and looked down at her hands when a couple in the row in front turned to look at the commotion. She ignored them, but she couldn’t quite ignore Lionel beside her. The last thing she needed or wanted was him, of all people, feeling sorry for her.

“I never said you were,” he said.

“Right,” said Root, unconvinced.

“I mean it,” he continued. “Besides, technically it’s my turn.”

“Your turn?” Root asked, glancing up at him in confusion. He was still watching the game, but Root could tell he wasn’t really paying attention.

“Yeah,” said Lionel. “Shaw and me… we do this sometimes. She paid last time. Best damn tacos I’ve ever had. Don’t ask me how the hell she manages to find these places; it’s like a super power or something.”

“Oh,” said Root. _Shaw_. “You two are pretty close, aren’t you?”

Lionel shrugged. “I guess… well, close for Shaw. If she doesn’t shoot me, I consider that a good day.”

“Have you heard from her?” Root asked. She stared down at her hands, at the chipped black nail polish she had applied only a few days ago when she was bored one night in the library. She started picking it off her right thumbnail, not daring to look at Lionel. She wasn’t sure what she might find there and decided she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want him to answer her question.

Perhaps it was best not to know where Shaw was. She wasn’t supposed to care. It was supposed to be over. But that didn’t stop her mind from wandering to the darkest places it could find.

“Nah,” Lionel said eventually. “She’s probably off doing whatever it is she and Nerd Boy get up to.”

“Right,” said Root. Working the numbers, just like Harold and Reese had speculated. Except… Root couldn’t shake the feeling that they were wrong. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in that hotel bathroom in Moscow. How she had pushed Shaw away.

How she had ended things for what she thought was the last time.

As if sensing what she was thinking, Lionel asked, “Did something happen between you two?”

“No,” said Root. She breathed out heavily and it made the lie lodge in her throat painfully. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Something _had_ happened though. Root had just been too freaked out at the time to notice it. Shaw had kissed her. Again. And all it seemed to do was confuse her. She hadn’t known where she stood. She still didn’t.

It was good that she was gone. That she didn’t have to look at Shaw and wonder what she was thinking, what she was feeling. If she was feeling anything at all.

It was better this way.

It had to be.

Because this feeling of loss, tight and suffocating whenever she thought about Shaw… Root couldn’t deal with it. She wanted it gone. Wanted it to fade away along with the memory of a thousand kisses, the breath of Shaw’s touch. Left with nothing but something so vague that it was hard for her to believe they had ever happened at all.

“You know,” said Lionel. He coughed, like he was struggling to say what he wanted to. Like he was starting to regret opening his mouth at all. “She was really messed up after you left.”

“So people keep telling me,” Root muttered. She didn’t want to talk about this. Not with Lionel. Not with anyone ever again. She couldn’t go back and change the things she had done, no matter how much she wanted to.

“I’m just saying…” Lionel continued. “You don’t get that messed up about someone you don’t… care about.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Root.

_It’s over._

Root swallowed thickly and struggled to meet Lionel’s gaze. “It’s over,” she said.

Spoken out loud, it was easier to believe it.


	20. Part 2: Chapter 20

Something about the silence of the library was a little _too_ quiet for Root. She missed noise and chaos and would often sneak upstairs to listen in on Harold and Reese as they discussed their latest number or even just Harold’s one sided conversation on the comms as he directed Reese to safety or imparted important intel about their number.

This noise, so loud and welcoming against the usual quiet, was the only thing stopping her from seriously looking for her own place. Because it would be her _own_ place. She would be alone, forever without noise and the mere thought of it left her trembling and feeling sick.

Her time in the library had morphed from days into weeks. Harold had been patient with her, not pushing her to move out. He seemed satisfied enough that she had managed to hold down a boring everyday job without killing anyone. If he was surprised about it, he never let it show. In fact, he spent most of his time studiously avoiding her whenever he could. Root couldn’t be sure if it was an attempt to give her space or if he was avoiding her for other reasons. He wasn’t being callous about it. It was more like he just didn’t know what to say to her.

Things became easier after a while and, some nights, on those more often than not occasions when he had to work late, he would invite Root upstairs to have tea with him. Like he was just checking in. She became his sounding board of sorts, seeking out her company more and more often. Sometimes they just discussed the latest number, sifting through clues. Other times they would talk about the Machine; how far She had come and where She was headed. Those nights left Root with a burning ache in her gut that wouldn’t go away for days.

They would talk for hours, long into the night, until the darkness and the emptiness of the hour made it easy to forget the differences that still hung in the air between them. They faded into a barely remembered dream until they weren’t there at all.

Even Reese had come to accept her prolonged presence. He ignore her - pretty much every single time he was in the same room as her - but he started bringing extra pastries in the mornings and didn’t complain when Root grabbed one on her way out to work.

Having a nine to five job was not something Root would ever get used to. It was so restrictive. So _mundane._ The idle chit-chat she was expected to make with her new co-workers made her want to scream and the work was so ridiculously simple that she got bored quickly and easily.

So easily that she soon found other ways to occupy her time.

“Ms. Groves?”

Root didn’t look up from her laptop screen. Didn’t stop typing.

“What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” asked Harold, stepping fully into the cage. Bear padded in behind him, immediately bounding towards Root and sniffing her out. She patted him on the head fondly before returning to her work.

“Relax, Harold,” said Root, smirking at him briefly from behind the screen. “I didn’t quit. And I wasn’t fired either,” she added. Harold seemed unconvinced. A few weeks ago, she would have felt the sting of his assumption. Now she was just amused by it.

“I’m working from home,” she explained when Harold continued to stare at her. “I’ve found that it’s much more effective - and quicker - for me to do things remotely from here.”

“And your boss is okay with that?” Harold asked doubtfully.

“Are you kidding?” said Root. “He loves me. I managed to upgrade and maximise his system output by 30% without any additional cost or resources. Actually… I think I managed to make him some money. Anyway,” she said, shaking her head. “He pretty much lets me do what I want.”

“I see,” said Harold flatly. He skimmed through some of the papers on Root’s desk. Normally, she preferred things electronic but her line manager was old school and printed out _everything_.

“What?” said Root? “You don’t approve?”

“No,” said Harold, examining one of the printouts. “It’s not that. I’m thinking I should have hired you sooner.”

Root raised an eyebrow, pausing – finally - in her typing. “You own Flow Finance?”

Harold shrugged, putting the sheet back on the pile. “I have considerable shares. This is incredible work,” he added and Root had to fight to contain her smile. “May I see the whole code?”

Root nodded and stood up so he could sit in front of the laptop.

“Remarkable,” Harold muttered. “This code… it’s so elegant.” He paused, glancing up at Root with an odd look on his face. “You really are, truly, talented at this.”

Root smiled smugly, but her cheeks burned from the praise. “Thank you, Harold,” she said. “It’s just a shame my so-called talent is wasted on tech support.”

Harold frowned in contemplation for a moment, staring blankly at the screen before he glanced back up at Root. “How would you like a promotion?”

“Promotion?” said Root. Her early elation started to fade. It felt like the charity she did not want. She wanted to do this on her own. Prove to Harold, to everyone and herself most of all, that she could do this alone.

“I’m financing a small tech company - a start-up really - working on nanotech mostly,” Harold said quickly. He typed something on Root’s computer, bringing up a web browser and typing in the company’s web address. “It’s more of a hobby, really, but I think you could - if you wanted to-”

“Harold,” said Root before he could go any further. “I don’t mean… I’m not sure if… are you suggesting we work together?”

“Well… yes,” said Harold. “I suppose I am.”

“Oh,” said Root. Something buzzed warm inside of her. Working closely with Harold on a project like this… it was something she had wanted for a long time. She had always admired his work, his stuff for IFT and the Machine…

But she wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted now.

Back when she had first been searching for the Machine, when she abducted Harold she had been a different person. Obsessed. She wasn’t sure if she could go near that again. If working with Harold would relapse her back into her old ways.

“Please,” said Harold. “Take some time to think about it. But I promise you flexible work hours and you can work form…” He glanced around the cage vault. “ _Home_ if that’s what you wish.”

“I- I’ll think about it,” she promised. She couldn’t help but wonder if this had been where Harold was leading her the whole time. If it was, she wasn’t sure how well that sat with her. It didn’t feel like her own choice. She didn’t want to have to keep relying on Harold. Or anyone else. She wanted to do this on her own; forge this new life for herself. But she couldn’t do that while she was still under his wing. Still in his library.

But she had been putting it off for so long, finding her own place, that it was getting harder and harder to leave here. The library, although terrible in so many ways, was also familiar. It was time to let go of that familiarity, no matter how hard it was going to be. That’s what he was trying to tell her, but Root couldn’t do it. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

From the floor, Bear whined. He lifted his head up slightly, panting at them both like he was annoyed he wasn’t getting their full attention. When Root bent down to his level, resting a palm on his back, he was warm beneath her touch and he seemed to relax a little.

“Everything okay in here?”

Root glanced up from where she was scratching Bear behind the ears to find Reese staring between her and Harold with a suspicious frown on his face.

“Oh, everything is fine,” Harold assured him. “How is Mr Sharp?”

“With Fusco,” said Reese, although he was still looking at Root. She rolled her eyes and climbed to her feet, smirking at him in hopes that it would unnerve him enough to provoke him to let it go. But with Harold he never did, and he continued to stare at Root until _she_ was the one that was unnerved. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“My boss gave me the rest of the day off,” said Root, smirking at the sceptical look that formed on Reese’s features. “What can I say?” she said smugly, glancing towards Harold. “He loves me.”

“Right,” said Reese and then turned to Harold. “Lunch?”

“Yes,” said Harold, finishing up what he was doing on Root’s computer. “Ms. Groves, would you care to join us?”

Startled by the request, it took Root a moment to answer. She glanced at Reese, but he seemed indifferent to Harold’s offer and merely shrugged at her.

“You like shawarma, right?” he said. Root smiled. She wasn’t all that hungry, but that didn’t stop the warm fuzzy feeling in her chest. It was so unusual compared to the emptiness she had been feeling lately that she couldn’t bring herself to speak. All she could do was nod and follow Harold and Reese out of the cage, Bear padding behind them all expectantly.

Harold groaned. “Again? I will never understand your fascination with that place.”

They continued to bicker all the way to the restaurant and Root got the impression it was an argument they’d had before and one they were likely to have again. That it wasn’t even really an argument at all. It was their way of relaxing after a difficult number, of settling any differences between them that might have arisen. It was a strange thing to be privy to and she didn’t think she had ever seen John Reese look so relaxed.

*

Root did as Harold asked. She thought about his offer, weighed up the pros and cons of not only working for him, but _with_ him. She thought about how bored she was already with her current job. About all the idiots who called her because they couldn’t get their computer to turn on or their emails to send. She thought about how impatient she was becoming and knew she wouldn’t last much longer. She suspected Harold knew that too. That his offer wasn’t merely because of how good her work was.

He was giving her a way out of the mundane.

Somehow, she had passed whatever test he had set her, without even knowing she was being tested. A part of her was angry about that. But the rest of her knew she would have done exactly the same thing.

Which was why she had some ground rules, before she agreed.

He wasn’t going to be her boss. Rather, her _partner_ in this endeavour. Root decided her own hours and where she worked. And any disagreements they might have, wouldn’t affect Harold’s decision to allow her to see Gen.

She wasn’t expecting him to agree. She was expecting to see thin lips and a pinched brow as he frowned at her. But all Harold did was smile, shake her hand and get her to work.

The work was like nothing she had ever done before. She had never collaborated on a project like this. They worked well together. They argued, more often than not, yes, but they did it with an energy and a spark that seemed to generate new ideas that neither of them would have come up with on their own.

And Root was _happy._ She was enjoying herself, her work. For the first time in a long time, she was able to forget, just for a little while, all that had happened. Found it a little easier to sleep at night. Her dreams were still horrible, the very worst her mind could conjure up, but they were less frequent these days.

But she still couldn’t quite do it. Couldn’t quite bring herself to leave the library. Face the silence and the loneliness that was waiting for her. Harold never pushed, but sometimes she caught him watching her, concern in his gaze and she couldn’t interpret what he was thinking. The only comment he ever made about her extended stay was to scold Reese whenever he mentioned it. Although he too had come to accept that she wasn’t about to leave anytime soon, even on occasion seeking her input about a number on the rare days when Harold wasn’t around. It was a tenuous civility and their tongues only got sharper when Harold was out of earshot. But even then, Root suspect it was just for show for the both of them. Soon, their verbal sparring became something she looked forward too and she always had a quick jab at him every morning when he brought over coffee - the rich, bitter Brazilian bean that was her favourite.

Not that Root was ever up in time for that. The two of them worked ridiculous hours. Even when they _didn’t_ have a number they were both in before seven am, clattering about loud enough to wake up the whole city. Root got used to it eventually. Or at least switching her implant off and placing her pillow over her other ear helped shut the noise out. She had never been more grateful for Harold agreeing to her flexible work hour’s condition.

Most days Root got up around lunch. After showering, she would either stay in the library working or head to the coffee place a few blocks away and work there, sipping hot coffee and nibbling a sandwich or pastry that she made last the whole afternoon.

Today, with Reese and Finch in Boston working a number, Root had the place to herself. With no one to bother her, she got through all the work she had intended to do in very little time and decided to spend the rest of her afternoon either tinkering with another piece of code she was working on or browsing through Harold’s vast book collection. But she didn’t get very far in doing either when she heard voices coming up the stairs and heading towards Harold’s office. She recognised Harold’s stern voice almost immediately. He sounded angry and she wondered which poor soul had lost their kneecaps to John Reese this time. Except it wasn’t John’s voice that responded. It was a small, sullen voice that Root would know anywhere.

Root quickly abandoned her plans for the afternoon and followed the voices upstairs. Harold’s movements were stiff and controlled as he took his coat off; his temper tightly coiled but still in check. Hovering as far away as possible from him was Gen. She had her backpack on and she gripped the straps as she stared down at her feet.

“What’s going on?” said Root. She went over to Gen, resting a hand on her shoulder and forcing her to look up so Root could look at her properly and make sure she was okay. Never before had Harold pulled Gen out of school in the middle of a week day. “Are you okay?”

Gen glanced up at her, shrugging as she remained silent. Root turned her questioning gaze onto Harold and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It seems,” said Harold and Root had never heard him sound so furious, “that Ms. Zhirova has been expelled from school.”

“What?” said Root, turning back to Gen. Still she remained silent, avoiding Root’s gaze. “Why?”

“For threatening another student. With a Taser,” he added incredulously.

“She deserved it,” said Gen haughtily.

“That’s not the point,” Harold snapped, so loud that it seemed to suck out all other noise from the room. Root stared at him, glaring until he got himself back under control. He sighed loudly, and with the exhale of air all the anger seemed to leave him.

The details as to _why_ she had been expelled weren’t important, and Root knew she would hear all about it eventually. Right now, Root was more concerned about what happened next.

“What happens now?” Root asked.

“We’ll just need to enrol her in other school,” said Harold, moving to his computer to start researching.

“Another boarding school, you mean?” said Root.

“No,” said Gen, stiffening at the suggestion. “I hate it there. Why can’t I stay in the city with you guys?”

“Absolutely not,” Harold said, his voice rising slightly.

“Why not?” said Gen. “I can stay with Root until Shaw comes back. She _is_ coming back… Right?”

Root glanced at Harold. As far as she was aware, no one had heard from either Shaw or Daniel since the last time Root had seen her in Moscow. It wasn’t something Root allowed herself to think about much. Shaw was an adult. She could take care of herself. It was none of Root’s business whatever she got up to. And she didn’t have any right anymore to be worried.

Although that never stopped her from doing just that.

“That won’t be feasible,” said Harold. “You can stay with me until we come up with a more permanent solution.”

“But I don’t want to stay with _you_ ,” said Gen sourly, glaring fiercely at Harold.

“It’s not up for discussion,” Harold snapped.

“Harold,” said Root as she gripped tightly onto Gen’s shoulder. His look was dark when he glared at her. This was more than just anger that Gen had gotten herself kicked out of school, but she couldn’t for life of her understand why he was being so rigid about this.

“Can I make a suggestion?”

Root flinched, glancing over her shoulder to find Reese slouching against one of the bookshelves. She didn’t know how long he had been there and she was annoyed at herself for not noticing him sooner.

“Mr Reese?” said Harold curiously.

“Why doesn’t Gen stay with me and Zoe until we get this figured out,” Reese suggested.

“You live with Zoe?” said Root. She frowned at him, a hundred quips coming to mind, but decided now wasn’t the time. He scowled at her but said nothing more.

“I want to stay with Root,” said Gen adamantly.

“Well,” said Reese. “That’d be a great idea. _If_ she didn’t still live in the library.”

“You live in the library?” Gen asked.

“Do you see how crazy that sounds when it’s said out loud?” said Reese. Root glared at him. Getting in digs about how she was still living in the library was his new favourite hobby and he tried to do it as often as possible.

“Gen,” said Root, still shooting Reese an icy glare, “why don’t you go take Bear for a walk around the block.”

“But-”

“Please,” said Root, squeezing her shoulder slightly. Gen remained motionless, glancing between the three of them suspiciously before she eventually nodded and disappeared to go get Bear.

“You can’t send her off to another boarding school,” Root said as soon as she was sure Gen was out of earshot.

“We don’t have much choice,” said Harold. “She’ll get into far too much trouble otherwise.”

“Harold,” said Root seriously. “She won’t survive it a second time.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic?” said Reese.

“No,” said Root. “She’s miserable. Can’t you see that?”

Neither of them said anything, but Root caught the guilty look that passed between them, like this was the first time they had considered it and were only now realising. It made her so angry but she could do nothing about it.

“Look,” said Reese, “my offer still stands. She can stay with me and Zoe until… whenever,” he added lamely, avoiding Root’s eyes.

“Shouldn’t you double check with Ms. Morgan that that’s alright first?” said Harold.

Reese shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll be fine with it. Zoe loves Gen.”

Root watched him doubtfully. “Still… you should probably ask first.”

But Reese seemed unconcerned and all Root could think about was a year and a half ago, when Gen had first come to stay with her and Shaw. How Root had come home in the middle of the night, tripping over a suitcase abandoned in the middle of the living room and Gen’s stuff everywhere. She had been furious that Shaw had never even thought to call her and inform her that they would be having a kid staying with them for the rest of the summer. It had been one of their biggest arguments, but perhaps not the loudest, not with Gen in the next room. Their hushed tones and clipped voices conveyed enough though.

When she thought about it now, and maybe she had known it then too, Root had been worried that Gen’s presence so soon after Root had tentatively moved in would freak Shaw out. It had freaked _her_ out at least. Not that she had ever let it show.

Back then, for those first couple of weeks, Root had found Gen to be nothing more than an annoying little kid. She even had the Machine counting down the days until she would be back at school and out of their lives. And although Shaw was gruff and acted all annoyed by Gen’s invasion of her home, Root could tell she actually _liked_ having Gen around. Root could never pinpoint what it was. Why a twelve year old wasn’t annoying the fuck out of Shaw like everyone else managed to do just by breathing. The fact that Gen had just as big an appetite as she did probably helped. There was no judgement from Gen when Shaw got cravings for bacon double cheeseburgers at one in the morning. And although Shaw would have never _ever_ admitted it, Root got the impression that Shaw liked having people to cook for. Liked when they enjoyed what she had made and were enthusiastic about it. Root herself never really ate much, which was always something that flabbergasted Shaw. But Gen always ate with gusto, asked for seconds and still had room for dessert. It impressed Shaw and disgusted Root and it took a long time for the three of them to get used to living together, for the brief periods of time when Root was actually there.

Now, after over a year spent away from them both, Root found it hard to imagine ever wanting anything else. She still wanted Gen in her life. It was never going to be like those last few weeks of summer, when Root and Gen had finally gotten passed whatever awkwardness was between them. When the three of them were actually happy.

Perhaps it had been an illusion. Maybe it had never been like that at all, dreamt up during her year of desperate loneliness when the only thing she had to hold onto was her memories.

The only thing she had to keep surviving.

No, things could never be like that again. And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Root wasn’t quite ready for that yet. For the responsibility.

She wasn’t sure Reese was either. He seemed confident enough, although he had never spent any significant time alone with Gen to realise just how much of a handful she could be when she wanted to. Which seemed to be Harold’s biggest concern. That Gen would only get herself into more trouble. But that was something Gen could succeed at no matter where she was.

One thing Root was sure of, _both_ Harold and Gen seemed reluctant about her staying with him. And they would both end up miserable if Gen was forced into it.

“Alright then, it’s settle,” said Harold eventually. “Genrika can stay with you and Ms. Morgan until something more…” he glanced awkwardly at Root, “ _permanent_ can be arranged.”

*

Fall was just starting to come in full swing; the leaves browning on the trees and falling to the ground in waves. Root shivered on the park bench, watching the building across the street.  She checked her watch: 12:44.

One more minute.

She shivered again, pulling her leather jacket more tightly around herself. It didn’t help to ward off the cold, but the movement gave her the illusion of trying to keep warm.

Eventually, the minute past and 12:45 rolled around. A bell sounded and students flooded out of the building Root was watching. She couldn’t spot the figure she was looking for amongst the crowd, not until the last dregs of kids pooled out of the front door.

Gen was alone, fiddling with her backpack as she crossed the school grounds towards the gate. She looked up as she neared the edge of the sidewalk and spotted Root on her bench across the street. Grinning and waving frantically, Gen waited impatiently for the crosswalk to turn green. Root waved back and scooted over on the bench to make room for Gen once she crossed the street.

“Hey,” Gen said, throwing herself on the bench and sighing loudly.

“Hey,” said Root. “You have a good first week at school?”

Gen shrugged, unzipping her backpack and pulling out her lunch. “It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Root asked.

Gen rolled her eyes. “Well I haven’t threatened anyone with a Taser if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t asking that,” said Root, looking slightly affronted. Besides, Harold had confiscated Gen’s Taser and all of her other birthday presents once he had interrogated it out of Gen what they were. Now they were all locked away safely in the library somewhere, far out of Gen’s reach until at least her eighteenth birthday. Or so Harold claimed. Although Gen confessed to Root that she doubted very much that they were still in the library because she had cameras and listening devices all over the place and knew fine well they weren’t there. Root had just smirked at that, deciding it was probably best _not_ to inform Harold that Gen was still spying on him.

“How’s it going staying with John and Zoe?” Root asked, watching as Gen took a hearty bite of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Um, it’s okay,” said Gen, shrugging once again. Root wanted to roll her eyes at the vagueness. Prodding Gen for information these days was getting more and more difficult.

“Oh yeah?” said Root, not believing a word. Reese hadn’t spoken to her directly, but she had managed to listen in to a few of his conversations with Harold. Just as they had both predicted, Zoe hadn’t been happy to come home to find Gen in her apartment.

“I mean,” said Gen taking another bite and talking around a mouthful of sandwich. “John’s a good cook and Zoe’s great but…”

“But?” said Root, nudging Gen’s shoulder when she went quiet. She stared down at her sandwich for a moment before glancing back up at Root.

“Well… the place is just so _nice_ ,” Gen confessed. “Too nice. I’m worried I’m going to break something or spill something.”

Chuckling lightly, Root rested her arm on the back of the bench and pulled back some of the hair from Gen’s face. It was getting long; wild split ends that always ended up in a mess no matter what Gen did to try and tame it. It needed cut. No doubt Zoe had access to a decent stylist, but Root doubted Gen would be willing to go. Like Shaw, she could be incredibly fussy about these kinds of things.

“But at least I get my own room,” Gen added cheerily. Root smiled. That had been one of the things Gen had hated most about boarding school: having to share a room with three other girls, none of whom she actually liked. “And when you get your own place, I’ll have my own room there too.”

“Gen…” said Root, shifting awkwardly on the bench. Although Gen’s stay at John and Zoe’s was a temporary measure, as yet no plan had been put in place with what to do with her permanently. They hadn’t even discussed it, and if Harold and John had, she herself had certainly not been privy to it. And the truth was, despite Gen’s eagerness to live with her - for however long - Root wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted. She didn’t know if she was ready. If she ever would be. She wasn’t sure if the weight of the responsibility would be something that she could carry. Not on her own.

“You do want me to come live with you… right?” Gen asked hesitantly, frowning up at Root.

Root licked her lips nervously. “I-”

“It’s okay,” Gen said hurriedly, quickly jumping to her feet and dropping the rest of her sandwich to the ground. “I have to get back to school.”

She kept her head down, but Root didn’t need to see her face to know she was upset.

“Hey,” said Root, grabbing onto her wrist before she could escape. “I never said… I’m just…”

Gen stared at her, eyes watery and teeth clenched too tight to keep everything locked in. “It’s okay,” she repeated. “You can say it. You don’t want me to live with you.”

“Gen,” Root said carefully, tugging on her wrist until she was sitting back down reluctantly on the bench. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Gen asked sullenly.

Root sighed. “I just meant… You know I love you, right kiddo?” Gen shrugged, scuffing the toe of her shoe into the dirt. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’m not… very good at this.”

A car honked somewhere down the street and Root could hear laughter and shouts from the park behind her. Other kids from Gen’s school. Kids who didn’t have a care in the world. For all the time that Root had known her, Gen had never been that carefree. She could act it, could even fool most people. But not Root.

Never Root.

“Yes you are,” Gen muttered.

“Hm?” Root dragged her gaze away from the kids in the park to watch Gen still staring at her feet.

“You are good at it,” Gen said. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Root smiled and some of the fear and the nausea slipped away when Gen met her smile with one of her own. There was no doubt on Gen’s face. Nothing but trust that Root felt she didn’t deserve.

“I hope so, kiddo,” said Root, putting an arm around Gen’s shoulder and tugging her close. She had been cold earlier, but with Gen at her side, she felt a little bit warmer inside. She had missed this. There hadn’t been many opportunities the past few weeks to go visit Gen at school. But out here, on this park bench, it was like their own little world. Just the two of them. “Hey,” said Root, voice slightly muffled with her face pressed into the top of Gen’s head. “How about we make this a regular thing?”

Gen nodded. “I’d like that.”

She pulled away from Root, but the hint of a smile on her face was hard to miss. Just for a moment, Root allowed herself to believe that everything was okay. That _Gen_ was okay. And maybe she was, for the most part. She wasn’t quite whole, not yet. Neither of them were. But maybe one day they would be.

A pigeon squaked at their feet, waddling its way to Gen’s half eaten abandoned sandwich. Root watched as it began to tentatively peck at it before deciding it was worth eating.

“You dropped your lunch,” said Root as a second pigeon landed next to the first one.

“It’s okay.” Gen shrugged. “I’m not that hungry. Oh, that reminds me,” she added as she climbed to her feet and retrieved her backpack. Other students were heading back to the school building too. “You’re invited to dinner tonight. I was supposed to text you yesterday but I forgot.”

“Dinner?” said Root uncertainly. Well that couldn’t have been Reese’s idea. They might have developed a civil exchange of barbs bordering on mild contempt, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was ready to have Root in his home.

“John’s making meatloaf,” said Gen. “You have to come. They’re expecting you.”

Root frowned doubtfully at that.

“Seven o’clock,” said Gen over her shoulder as she started to walk towards the crosswalk. “Don’t be late.”

*

Although Root had her doubts, several of them in fact, she couldn’t say no to Gen. She never could. And the thirty or so text messages she received that afternoon reminding her about dinner made it very difficult for Root to back out now. She couldn’t let Gen down.

With that in mind, Root found herself standing outside an apartment building that was most definitely much nicer than anything she could afford right now, despite Harold’s generous salary. A man in his forties, hair greying at his temples, exited the building just as Root strolled up to the main door. She smiled at him absently as he held the door open for her and she pulled out her phone to check which apartment number she was supposed to go to. _Apartment 1402, fifth floor_ , Gen had texted at least four times. Root smiled as she slipped her phone away, deciding to take the stairs in favour of the elevator.

She tried to tell herself it wasn’t because she was nervous. That she wasn’t trying to put off the inevitable. But the truth was, Root didn’t do so good around other people. Didn’t do so good at _normal_. And a dinner party with someone she loved, someone she didn’t quite hate but wouldn’t really be bothered that much if he got caught in a crossfire of bullets tomorrow and someone she had barely spoken to before… well that was about as normal as anything else in Root’s life right now. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act, what she was supposed to wear. She had settled on black pants and a purple blouse, her usual leather jacket on top. She looked good. Perhaps not breath taking, but good. Even then she wasn’t sure if she was overdressed or underdressed.

And what exactly did people talk about at dinner parties anyway? None of their jobs were exactly appropriate for sharing with a thirteen year old. Although she had no doubt Gen was probably already pretty clued up about what all three of them did, or may have done at one time, for a living. Talk about their personal lives? Her own was a mess. The less she thought about Shaw the better. And the last thing she wanted was to spend an evening discovering what John Reese got up to in his spare time. No thank you.

Root reached the fifth floor, her booted foot hitting the landing. The doubt remained with her all the way to apartment 1402, her footsteps hesitant. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Surely Gen would understand? That it was better for everyone if Root just turned around now and headed back to the library.

With that in mind, Root stopped. Except she happened to stop right outside 1402 and was knocking on the door before she could stop herself. She froze in place, her entire body solid and her mind working quickly to find a way to slip away before anyone noticed she was here. She could run like the coward she was. Hide in the library like she had been doing ever since coming back from Moscow.

Ever since Shaw left.

Because hiding was so much easier than facing everything else.

Her feet refused to move, however, and there was nothing she could do as the door to apartment 1402 swung open, bringing her face to face with Zoe Morgan.

The frown was unexpected. As was the way it deepened into a glare when Root continued to stare at her without saying anything.

“What are doing here?” Zoe asked.

Everything fell into place then. Root was annoyed at herself for not figuring it out sooner. _Of course_ they wouldn’t have invited her. Why would they? Why would anyone?

“Um,” said Root, shaking her head and trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She had been played by a thirteen year old. _Again._ Almost as well as she had played Reese as Caroline Turing. “This was a mistake. I should go.”

And she did intend to leave. Right up until the point where she heard Gen’s voice calling her name.

“Root,” Gen said breathlessly, appearing behind Zoe and grinning widely like she wasn’t even bothered that it was obvious she had just been caught out. That didn’t concern Gen. She was relying on the awkwardness of the situation, on Zoe being too polite to turn Root away now. They were all like puppets to this little master who had become a pro, outwitting the teachers.

From somewhere deep inside the apartment John Reese’s voice sounded and Gen rolled her eyes.

“I’m supposed to be peeling potatoes,” she said in hushed conspiratory tones. “You like them mashed, right?”

“Right,” said Root absently, watching as Zoe’s lips formed into the tightest of lines as she too worked out what Gen had just done.

“Good,” said Gen. “I’m in charge. I’m gonna put cheese and chives through it like Shaw does.”

“Okay,” said Root, as Gen disappeared back through the apartment when Reese called out to her once again. “Sorry,” she added to Zoe, shaking her head. “She can be sneaky.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Zoe. Her face was hard to read and Root had to fight not to turn on her heel and run. Situations like this was not something she was used to, and certainly not without some thorough research beforehand. Information that she could use, exploit. That was what she was good at. She was good at playing a role, had been doing it for most of her life. But nobody had taught her how to play herself.

“I should go,” said Root. “Just tell her I had to… I don’t know. Tell her I’ll call her.”

But Root knew there was no excuse that Gen would accept, even if there had been one, and it was with heavy steps that Root turned around and headed back in the direction of the stairwell.

“Wait,” Zoe called out behind her. Root paused, listening to the sound of Zoe sighing heavily. “You here now. You may as well stay.”

Root turned to face her, startled by the sincerity on Zoe’s face. There was no animosity there, not like with Reese and sometimes even Harold when she looked carefully. There was too much history between them not to be. But not with Zoe. She was aware of Root’s past to a certain extent, but she had never experienced it. And for that, Root had an ally of sorts she hadn’t been expecting.

“John will be furious,” Zoe said, taking a step back so Root could step into the apartment. “But it serves him right for letting Gen stay here without telling me.”

Smiling, Root tried to make herself relax a little. Her entire body was on edge, nerve endings sizzling and waiting for action. She had that urge to run again, felt nausea swell up at the smell of something cooking in the kitchen. Probably not the reaction Reese was looking for and perhaps on a better day she would have been more able to enjoy it, feel her mouth watering in anticipation.

Zoe led her down a well decorated hallway towards a large charcoal and white kitchen, bustling with activity. Reese looked like he was doing about five things at once, manoeuvring around Gen and sending dark looks towards the mess she was making. Root had to bite her lip to stop from laughing at the look of exasperation that crossed Zoe’s face. Like her, they were both learning the hard way about just how much of a disaster waiting to happen Gen could be.

“You need to chop them up smaller or they’ll take forever to cook,” Reese instructed, pulling a potato from Gen’s pile of peeled ones and chopping it in half with a large knife.

“I _know_ ,” said Gen haughtily, glaring up at Reese. “I said I would do it.”

“Everything okay in here?” Zoe asked before Reese could open his mouth with a scathing retort.

He stiffened, smiling up at Zoe a little too widely. “Everything’s fine. We’re behaving.”

“He keeps interfering,” Gen complained. “ _I’m_ supposed to be doing the potatoes.”

“I was just-” John began, then he spotted Root behind Zoe and paused, his eyes narrowing. “What is _she_ doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, John,” said Root, smirking at him mockingly as she moved towards Gen. She had enough potatoes to feed an army. Or, well… _Shaw_ probably, and was still peeling more. “Need a hand?”

“No,” said Gen, although it was with less scorn than the tone she had been using with Reese. “I’m fine.”

With nothing to do, Root shoved her hands into her pockets. She would rather have kept busy. Then she wouldn’t have to look at the silent conversation currently happening between John and Zoe. She wondered if she was about to be thrown out. If she should start mentally preparing herself for comforting Gen.

“Hey, Gen,” said Zoe, shooting Reese a fierce look before glancing away. “How about you go show Root your room. You can finish the potatoes later.”

Except it wasn’t going to be that easy. It never was with Gen and she glanced suspiciously between the three of them. Root could see the changes in her features, the way her eyes crinkled in concentration. She was plotting something. A way to keep Root here and Root had a feeling, whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Okay,” Gen said eventually, wiping her hands clean on her jeans before grabbing Root by the wrist and dragging her in the direction of, presumably, her new bedroom.

It was large and spacious, light cream walls that made the room appear bright and sterile.  And it was _tidy_ , which wasn’t something Root had ever seen when Gen had stayed with her and Shaw. Her bedroom had been a constant mess, a haphazard of clothes and books and surveillance equipment that neither she nor Shaw had ever been exactly sure where she had managed to acquire it from.

“It’s… nice,” said Root, glancing around the room before propping herself onto the edge of the bed. Gen sat down next to her, head turning as if she too were taking in the room for the first time.

“It’s horrible,” said Gen. “Zoe won’t even let me put any posters up because the paint is designer or something.”

Root snorted. “Designer paint?”

Gen shrugged. “I dunno. I’m afraid to sneeze in this place.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Root said, but, like most teenagers, Gen seemed unconvinced by the wisdom of her elders. “Just maybe… _ask_ them before you invite me around for dinner next time.”

Gen smiled up at her sheepishly. “Are they mad?”

“Maybe only a little bit,” said Root. Although perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

“They’re kinda weird about it,” said Gen. “About you, I mean.”

They were, Root agreed and she could hardly blame them.

“Well… John is anyway.” Gen looked at her questioningly, but Root remained silent, staring at the vanity table turned desk covered with Gen’s school books. “But I told him that Moscow thing wasn’t your fault. It was my idea.”

“It’s not just that kiddo,” said Root, biting her lip and staring down at her hands. They looked so old and frail. How long had they been like that? And how had she never noticed it before? She had gotten older, so far away from that scared, angry little kid she used to be and she hadn’t even noticed. She hadn’t been paying attention. Root clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails in deep. The pain stung through her palms and, for a little while, everything became a little bit clearer. The way the world looked seemed sharper and she thought she could understand things a bit better. Why she was here; why it was best for Gen to be close, yet still at arm’s length. Root was dangerous. She always had been. The others knew that, all too well.

“I’ve done things,” Root said. She swallowed through words that didn’t want to come out, that wanted to remain hidden until they ceased to exist. “Bad things.”

“I know,” Gen said quietly. Root couldn’t tell if that frightened Gen or not. If she even wanted to know anyway. There was an innocence about Gen; she was so trusting. Losing that trust, no matter how much she felt she didn’t deserve it, scared the hell out of her.

But Gen wasn’t afraid. She was fearless, braver than Root. Her hand reached out, gently prying Root’s fists flat and squeezing. Letting out a startled breath, Root looked down at their entwined fingers.

Nothing seemed real.

“It’s okay,” said Gen, sounding so sure, so gentle. “Because that’s not who you are anymore.”

The smallest of smile’s formed on Root’s lips, sad and alone. “How do you know?” she murmured and she thought about all she had done this past year. The people she had hurt in her hunt for Jason. She had been so callous, uncaring if nuclear warhead codes fell into the wrong hands as long as she got to him. As long as he paid for what he had done. “You can’t be so sure of that.”

“I just know,” said Gen with so much confidence that Root had no choice but to believe her, just like she so wanted to. She wanted it to be the truth so badly, more than anything in her entire life. But it was heavy. It pressed down on her, that truth. She didn’t want Gen to be wrong. Didn’t want to let her down, which she was surely to do eventually. All she needed was time.

“I hope you’re right, kiddo,” said Root, giving Gen’s hand a tight squeeze before letting go just as Zoe appeared in the doorway.

“Gen, why don’t you go finish helping John with dinner,” she said.

Gen stood up slowly. Reluctantly. “Is Root staying?”

There was an awkward pause for a moment; a silence so heavy Root could feel it more than anything. It was broken by the sound of Zoe’s sigh.

“Well someone has to help us eat all those potatoes,” she said.

“Awesome,” Gen exclaimed, grinning broadly as she rushed out of the room, her footsteps clattering along the hallway. When they faded, Root stood up, moving towards Gen’s desk and staring at it disinterestedly.

“Thank you,” she said, surprised by how grateful she sounded.

Zoe shrugged. “I don’t think we would have heard the end of it if you left.”

“Maybe,” Root agreed. “How’s she doing?”

“Gen?” said Zoe. “Fine. She mostly keeps to herself. In here doing her homework or reading those comics she likes so much. She’s a good kid.”

“Yeah,” said Root. “I know this wasn’t exactly ideal.”

“No,” Zoe agreed. “John still owes me for that one.”

Root smiled, deciding she would rather not know what Zoe wanted in return.

“He’s not happy about tonight, is he?” said Root. She let her fingers trace across the math textbook sitting on top of the pile on Gen’s desk. Gen hated math and she wondered if she was asking John or Zoe for help, or if she was just powering through as best she could on her own.

Chuckling lightly, Zoe shook her head. “I don’t think he’s in any position right now to comment. Perhaps a little more warning next time though?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” said Root. “She played me too.”

“Hm,” said Zoe, crossing her arms as she stared at Root with her eyebrow raised; a delicate line. Eloquent even. “She’s a sneaky one, isn’t she?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” said Root, smiling proudly despite herself. “But _that_ was nothing.”

“I can imagine,” said Zoe. “I suppose sneaking around beats a moody teenager any day.”

Root wasn’t so sure about that. Perhaps Harold had a point about keeping Gen out of trouble. She seemed to find it so easily, no matter where she was.

“Care for a drink?” Zoe asked. Root looked at her in surprise for a moment, unused to such a normal offer.

“Sure,” she said, following Zoe out of the room and into the apartment’s spacious living room. Large windows provided an excellent view of the city, lit up and sparkling in the night. During the day, sunlight must flood into the room, giving it a natural brightness. Gen had been right about the place being nice. The decor was modern, chic. So much like Zoe. There wasn’t a trace of John anywhere. It made Root wonder where he kept his guns in a place that was so minimal. Nowhere to conceal a pistol. Shaw would have hated this place.

Zoe poured her a large glass of red wine from the bottle on the coffee table and gestured for Root to sit on the sleek leather couch. It creaked as Root sat down, taking the glass Zoe offered her. This was the part where she was supposed to make small talk and act like a normal human being. Be everything that she wasn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she took a large gulp of her wine, her throat burning and feeling sick at the taste of alcohol. She hadn’t had any in so long, and despite the nice vintage, she couldn’t find it within her to enjoy it.

“So I hear you’re working for Finch now,” said Zoe. She took a seat on the armchair opposite Root, her eyes like a predator as she stared her down.

“Working with,” Root clarified and took another sip of her drink. It was a joint project. They were partners and she tried not to think too often about how he would kick her off it immediately if she screwed up. “Still fixing other people’s problems?”

Zoe smirked. “It’s an occupation that never goes out of style.”

Root smiled. She couldn’t disagree with that. But it was most certainly not a job she would ever want.

For all of Root’s inadequacies at small talk, she thought she did pretty well. Although Zoe carried most of the conversation, switching between topics so rapidly that Root struggled to keep up, until they hit on one where Root seemed to find something more to say than hiding behind her wine glass. She could feel the alcohol rushing to her head and had to keep reminding herself to take it slow. That she wouldn’t do herself or anyone else any favours by getting drunk.

Zoe was good at talking. Good at getting people to talk. In another life, Root wouldn’t have been so bad at it herself. But then again, back then she was playing a role. There was always a hidden agenda, a goal she was driving towards. As herself, Root’s only goal was just to make through to the end of the day. One day at a time.

“Hey, you’re good with computers, right?” said Zoe suddenly when a lull appeared in the conversation.

Root nodded, putting down her wine glass. Zoe retrieved a thin silver laptop from a leather shoulder bag, taking a seat on the couch next to Root as she popped the lid open.

“How do I track someone’s emails without them knowing?” asked Zoe.

“Spying on John?” Root asked with a smirk.

“No,” said Zoe, unamused. “It’s for a job. My client has some sensitive information he would rather not get leaked to the press.”

Root nodded and took the laptop from her. “And the laptop belongs to...”

“Someone who knows all his dirty little secrets,” said Zoe.

“Okay,” said Root, as she began pulling up the email account. “Do you want to see both outgoing and incoming messages?”

“You can do that?” said Zoe.

“Sure,” said Root, as if it was as easy breathing. “It’s not strictly _legal_ , mind you…”

“But that’s not exactly a problem for you, is it?” said Zoe knowingly.

“Not really,” said Root with a smirk. “I can clone the emails to another account so you’ll be alerted whenever they receive or send something.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Zoe, watching with interest as Root typed. But Root was way too fast for her to pick up on what she was doing and within a few minutes she was finished. Zoe stared at her, impressed. “Wow,” she said, taking the laptop back and putting it away in its leather bag. “Thanks. Remind me to hire you next time I need help with computers. Finch is so frumpy about things.”

Root laughed lightly. “Yeah, he can be,” she agreed, picking her wine up again and taking a sip.

They chatted some more and, this time, Root felt more at ease.

“Dinner shouldn’t be long.” John appeared in the doorway. A dark frown on his features that he directed towards Root, but beyond that there was no indication of his dislike of her being here. “Everything’s ready but the potatoes.”

“Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on her?” asked Zoe. “In case she sets the kitchen on fire.”

John poured himself a glass of wine. “She told me - and I quote - ‘get the hell out of my kitchen’. I think she gets that from Shaw,” he added, taking a drink of his wine.

“She does,” said Root smiling reminiscently. Whenever Shaw would cook, during that summer, it was always by herself. Root and Gen just got in the way, apparently. They both learned quickly that Shaw in cook mode was not a force to be reckoned with. She didn’t appreciate other people in her kitchen and, quite frankly, for Root’s part, she always saw the bright side of someone cooking her a decent meal.

Besides, there was something about Shaw being grumpy that always set a fire within Root.

An awkward shift settled across the room, thick and hot and the brief look that passed between John and Zoe didn’t pass by Root unnoticed. Perhaps it was best if she just kept her mouth shut. Kept her thoughts of Shaw and what had been at bay.

Dinner, once the potatoes were _finally_ ready and mashed to Gen’s satisfaction, was a tense affair. Reese spent most of it giving Root dark looks whenever she dared to speak and after another glass of wine, it became more amusing than it was annoying. Gen talked through most of the meal in-between bites of food and mostly complaining about the burnt bits of meatloaf. Which, when Reese opened his mouth to protest about, he quickly received a scolding kick to the shin from Zoe. Despite the black bits, it wasn’t too bad and Gen’s mashed potatoes were a big hit.

And although it was awkward, although she felt out of place like she didn’t belong, Root was enjoying herself. When it was time to say goodnight, late in the evening after another bottle of wine and with Gen’s eyes drooping with exhaustion, Root was reluctant to leave. She said goodbye to Gen, hugging her tight and promising to see her soon. Her farewell to Zoe was pleasant and even Reese seemed less inhospitable now that she was actually leaving. Root made sure to give him her widest smile, big enough to make him wince as she left the apartment.

She smiled all the way back to the library.

“You’re back rather late, Ms. Groves.”

Not expecting anyone else to be here this late, Root jumped. Her heart was racing furiously before her brain caught up that it was just Harold.

“What are you still doing here?” Root asked, trying to cover up how startled she was.

“I trust you had a pleasant dinner?” said Harold, ignoring her question. Root flinched. She should have known he would have found out about it eventually. From Reese most likely, or perhaps even the Machine, now that they were talking.

“Harold,” Root began. His face was like stone, impossible to interpret. She couldn’t tell if he was angry. If he was about to take everything away from her.

But then he did something unexpected.

He smiled.

“Ms. Morgan informed me that’s the happiest she’s ever seen Genrika,” he said.

Root said nothing, too afraid to speak. To say the wrong thing and find that smile turn into a frown and a stern word.

“I was mistaken,” Harold continued. “Keeping you from her… it was a mistake.”

The words, so shocking to Root, unexpected, hardly seemed real to her ears. She had been trying so hard these last few weeks to follow his stupid rules, to keep Gen at arm’s length as much as possible. For Gen’s own good mostly. Inside, she was still a mess. Everything she did seemed tainted. She couldn’t let that touch Gen.

Yet here Harold was, telling her he was wrong.

Telling her _she_ was wrong.

“You are more of a positive influence on her than I anticipated,” said Harold. His voice was soft, barely a whisper in the dark. This was hard for him to say almost as hard as it was for Root to hear. “She needs you.”

“I know.” Root swallowed thickly; didn’t know how she was still able to speak. Still able to breathe. “I won’t let her down.”

“I know you won’t,” said Harold. He smiled. Stepping closer to Root, he hovered awkwardly before resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing.

With a trembling hand, Root covered his, squeezing back. Conveying everything that she couldn’t with words.

“Goodnight, Root,” Harold murmured, before stepping away, leaving her alone in the library once again.

Root climbed the stairs to her cage, the ghost of a smile on her lips. It faded once she got there and she glanced around at the piles of books, her laptop and the few clothes she owned. In the dim light cast by the streetlight pooling through the small window, Root could barely make out the details of this place. But she didn’t have to. She could see it more clearly now than she ever had.

She hated this place.

It was time to get out.


	21. Part 2: Chapter 21

Twice a week, every week, Root waited for Gen on their park bench across the street from Gen’s school. Sometimes she brought lunch; Gen’s favourite from the deli place not too far from the library and they talked and giggled for the forty-five minutes Gen had before she had to go back to school.

It was Root’s favourite part of the week, when it was just her and Gen.

Weekly dinners at John and Zoe’s had become a regular thing too and sometimes even Harold joined them when he wasn’t being mysterious.But it was out here, the wind blowing and rustling the leaves on the trees, the traffic going past with horns honking and tires screeching, that Root was most content. Everything else in her life fell away. All the worries and concerns, the fear of fucking up somehow, it all faded for those forty-five minutes when it was just the two of them.

Root took a seat on the hard bench, shivering in the wind as she clutched a brown paper bag with Gen’s lunch in one hand and a coffee in the other. It was still hot and she sipped it eagerly, relishing the burn down her throat. She had been running late but there was no sign of Gen in the park or hovering near the school gate.

Winter was fast approaching; cold, buffeting winds swooped Root’s hair up into the air. It would only get worse as they neared December and then the inevitable snow that would follow. Root wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold out on the park bench. They would have to venture into the small cafe not too far down the street, which they had been to a few times when it rained.

About five minutes after Root sat down, Gen slouched out of the school building, taking her sweet time to make her way over to Root.

“You’re late today,” said Root. Gen threw herself onto the bench, snatching at the brown paper bag hungrily. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” said Gen. “I just had to talk to my teacher about a project.”

“Oh?” said Root, taking another sip of her coffee. “What project?”

Gen shrugged, biting into her sandwich rather than answering Root’s questions. “Some enterprise thing,” she explained through a mouthful of food. “We’re supposed to design a product and plan how we would sell it to other kids at school.”

“Sounds fun,” said Root doubtfully.

Gen narrowed her eyes. “It’s lame. I don’t know anything about setting up a business. And my stupid group wants to design sneakers that play music.”

“Very creative,” said Root, smirking at Gen’s display of annoyance as she exhaled loudly.

“No it’s not,” Gen said. “It’s dumb. How are you supposed to hear the music when it’s playing from your feet?”

Root shrugged at that. “Maybe you should ask Harold,” she said. “About the business side of things, I mean. He owns a lot of companies.” More than she could count.

Gen seemed reluctant about that suggestion and took another bite of her sandwich, her teeth tearing through bread and meat.

“Still not talking to him?” Root asked.

“He keeps asking me about what happened with that girl,” Gen muttered.

“Well,” said Root, taking another sip of her coffee. It was starting to cool, but not too much that she grimaced at the taste. “You’re not exactly forthcoming with information.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Gen. “It was just a stupid argument that got out of hand.”

Except Gen had never told anyone what the argument had been about. Not to Harold, not to her. Root had asked, only once, but Gen had been as silent as a burglar and Root hadn’t pushed. She was curious, could even guess what it might have been about, what could have angered Gen enough to pull out a Taser and threaten to use it.

It didn’t really matter why anyway. As long as it didn’t happen again and, so far, Gen was working hard and keeping her head down at her new school.

Root just hoped it would last.

“So,” said Root, deciding it was probably best to change the subject. “Want to come view an apartment after school with me tomorrow?”

“Sure,” said Gen, brightening up quickly.

She had seen a couple so far, but nothing jumped out at Root. Nothing, despite how hard she tried to imagine living there, seemed to fit. A second opinion might help, but Root was doubtful this place, one bedroom and barely any square footage, would be any use. But she had promised herself to try. To get out of the library.

“Oh, I have something to tell you,” said Gen once she had finished her sandwich, squashing the brown paper bag into a ball and tossing it into the air. She missed it on the way back down; it bounced off her knee, hitting the ground and rolling under the bench. Gen huffed and bent over to pick it up.

“Tell me what?” said Root, taking another drink of coffee. Which was a mistake, she realised, when Gen glanced up at her and smirked.

“Zoe’s pregnant.”

Not expecting _that_ answer, Root spluttered. Coffee went down all the wrong pipes and she coughed and wheezed until she could breathe again. She could feel the warm liquid dribbling down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand, annoyed and eyes narrowed.

“You did that on purpose,” she choked, abandoning the paper cup at her feet and wiping her face clean. Her eyes were streaming and her trachea still tickled from the invasion and all Gen could do was laugh.

“Maybe a little bit,” Gen admitted, still grinning brightly as she gathered up her things to head back to school.

“And you had to tell me that why?” Root asked. She gathered up her near empty coffee cup and Gen’s balled up bag and dumped it in a nearby trash can. Gen followed her, swinging her backpack over one shoulder and shrugging.

“I dunno,” she said.

“You just like to gossip,” Root accused. Gen didn’t deny it and Root got the feeling this wasn’t something she had actually been told. “Have you been spying again?”

“No,” said Gen, but she avoided Root’s gaze like she knew how easily Root could detect the lie.

“Uh-huh,” said Root sceptically, pushing on the button at the crosswalk. She let it go though; this endless argument about when and where it was appropriate to spy on people. Root wasn’t bothered too much about it. She wasn’t the one being spied on, after all. But the others would have a fit if they found out and Gen wasn’t exactly subtle about it. “I’ll pick you up after school finishes tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” said Gen.

*

“What do you think?” asked Root.

The apartment was small; one bedroom with en-suite bathroom and a lounge/kitchen area with one window that looked out at the building next door. Red brick wall, but at least no one could see in unless they stuck their head out far enough. It was certainly bigger than the cage vault anyway, and it would be _hers._

Gen glanced at the chipped walls and worn away carpet beneath her feet, before glancing up at Root with a disgusted look on her face like she had just stepped on something rotten and the room was starting to fill up with the smell.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

The super glanced at them from where he was still standing the doorway, swinging a set of keys around his pointer finger. “The rent’s good,” he said. “And the place comes fully furnished. And did I mention the security lock in the front door?”

“You did,” said Root. About six times already. “Could you give us a moment?”

He shrugged, moving to go hover in the hallway instead, scratching the back of his head in boredom.

“It’s not that bad,” said Root once she thought the super might be out of earshot. “I like it.”

“You’re kidding?” said Gen. “This place is a hole.”

“Well you won’t have to live here, so…”

“Right,” said Gen, ducking her head and scuffing her toe against the already worn carpet.

“Hey,” said Root, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Gen huffed, blowing the air out of her lungs in one big annoyed whoosh.

“And besides,” Root added, trying to offset the oncoming sulk, “you can still come over and stay.”

“I can?” said Gen, brightening up slightly.

“Sure,” said Root. “There’s always the couch.”

Gen’s face fell. “It’s lumpy.”

“Then I’ll get a new one,” said Root. She glanced from the couch and around the room once again. Although it wasn’t the grandest of places, she could already picture where she would store her computers and other equipment she needed for her project with Harold. She didn’t own many things, so storage wasn’t an issue. It was also pretty central: not too far from the library or Gen’s school. And, most importantly, there was a decent coffee place just two blocks away.

“Fine,” said Gen. “Take it, but I think you’re making a terrible mistake,” she added dramatically.

Root rolled her eyes. She didn’t need Gen to say it out loud, but she could guess where her train of thought was going right now. To last summer and an apartment with her own room where she was allowed to make a mess provided it didn’t spill into anywhere else in the apartment. Where Root and Shaw were…

Well, at least Root knew where Shaw was back then. It had been almost nine weeks now and still no one had heard from her. _Root_ hadn’t heard from her. She hadn’t expected to, but she thought that Shaw would at least have tried to call Gen or something. But there had been nothing.

“So?” said the super, coming back into the apartment and glancing at his watch not too subtly. They had already been here close to twenty minutes, far longer than was required to check out a place this small.

“I’ll take it,” said Root.

“Great,” said the super unenthusiastically. “I’ll need you to fill out this form.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Root said to Gen, taking the pen the super was holding out to her and using the kitchen counter to fill out the forms of her new lease. Most of it was boring, legal stuff that she skimmed over. Agreement about security deposits and what would happen if she failed to pay rent. Root was fine with most of it until she got to the bit about her name.

She hadn’t used an alias in a while. She hadn’t needed to.

“Is there a problem?” asked the super.

“No,” said Root and signed _Samantha Groves_ and dated it.

It felt weird, using that name again. But she had promised herself that she would do this properly. A fresh start.

_It’s just a name_ , she told herself. _Only a piece of paperwork. It doesn’t mean anything._

Except it meant everything.

She hadn’t been Samantha Groves in years, despite Harold’s repeated use of the name. It was an identity she had shed a long time ago and had no intention of ever using again once she took the name Root as her own.

Yet here she was, signing her old name as casually as she would write out a shopping list.

It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.

“Come on, kiddo,” said Root, passing the paperwork back to the super. She shoved her own copy into the back pocket of her jeans and turned to find out where Gen had gotten to. “Let’s go.”

When she turned around, she spotted Gen jumping out of the corner of her eye. A look on her face that was a little _too_ innocent. Root thanked the super again, waiting until he had started heading for the door before she grabbed Gen gently by the elbow.

“Remove the bugs,” Root muttered.

“But-”

“All of them,” said Root firmly.

Gen sighed. “I’m only doing this for your own good you know.”

“That’s sweet, hon,” said Root, watching patiently as Gen retrieved the listening device from bottom of a lamp, “but I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Well someone has so,” said Gen, hurrying to the bedroom to remove the one she had, presumably, hidden there to.

Root smiled, but it was with a sadness she couldn’t quite make go away. She didn’t _want_ Gen to have to feel the need to protect her. She was the one who was supposed to protect _her_. It was a nice feeling though, having someone who wanted her to be safe. She hadn’t had that in a long time.

When Gen was finished, quickly shoving the surveillance equipment into her bag before Root could take it from her, they headed out of the building.

It was an okay area, not as rough as where Gen used to live with her grandfather, but still not nice enough that Root would be happy with letting her wander off by herself. She made sure Gen stayed close, heading towards the parked BMW she had borrowed from Harold down the street. Also way too fancy for this neighbourhood, but it was just for today, so they could head back to John and Zoe’s and avoid using the subway during the rush hour commute.

The traffic on the roads hadn’t gotten too bad yet, but Root missed the days when the Machine would navigate; allowing her to weave through the congestion with ease. Now, she no longer had that advantage and they ended up stuck in traffic about four blocks away from John and Zoe’s place.

Thrumming her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, Root glanced over at Gen. Although she had seemed bright enough back at the apartment, now she was deflated; her forehead pressed against the passenger window, sighing heavily. Her breath steamed up the window and she trailed her finger through it, making random, abstract shapes.

“You okay?” Root asked. She couldn’t stop the worried frown from creasing her forehead and was just glad Gen was turned away, unable to see it, so she wouldn’t whine about it.

“Fine,” Gen muttered.

She sounded anything but fine. Root didn’t know if this was just normal teenage behaviour or if something else was bothering her. Something about what happened back at the apartment. The only thing Root could think of - debugging the place aside - was the mention of Gen living with her. But they’d had that conversation before. Several times. Gen _knew_ why it wasn’t possible. Why it was best for everyone if she just remained where she was. Root had thought she had come to accept that.

Apparently not.

“We’ll be there soon,” Root said when the traffic in front moved another few metres before slowing to a stop again.

“Whatever,” said Gen, moving her head from the window and leaning back against the head rest. She closed her eyes and Root wouldn’t be surprised if she just decided to take a nap there and then. At least that was better than her ever increasing sullenness.

Eventually, after twenty minutes more than it should have taken them, Root parked Finch’s BMW across the street from John and Zoe’s apartment building. She had barely turned the engine off when Gen darted out of the passenger side and dashed across the road. Root sighed, resigned to be in the bad books for the foreseeable future and got out of the car.

Gen didn’t bother waiting for her, so the main entrance was locked by the time Root crossed the street and Zoe had to buzz her inside. When she reached the apartment Gen was nowhere in sight, only Zoe, leaning against the door as she waited for Root to arrive.

“What did you do this time?” Zoe asked.

Root shrugged. “The usual probably.”

“Not too happy about you finally getting your own place?”

“No,” said Root. Sensing that she didn’t want to talk about it, Zoe pressed her lips into a thin line and stepped aside to allow Root in.

“It’s just us three tonight,” said Zoe, shutting the door and clicking the bolt back into place, “so I figured we’d just order in.”

“Where’s John?” asked Root. She followed Zoe through to the kitchen and shook her head at the glass of wine she was offered.

“Working,” said Zoe. “I think,” she added. “He was a bit vague about it.”

_Probably another number_ , Root thought.

They talked for a bit; catching up on their week. Root found, now that she was more at ease around Zoe - around other people - that it was easier to make small talk. Although it wasn’t just that. She liked Zoe and she enjoyed hearing about her work. Sometimes she even helped to, if there was something involving a computer or even just access to a contact Root knew from her days before the Machine. Most of them were so untrustworthy that Root always had to check her pockets after an in the flesh meeting to make sure they hadn’t tried to steal something. None of that concerned Zoe. She was as fearless as she was classy. The more Root got to know her, the more she could see why Reese liked her so much.

She was fun. Casual.

Everything Root wasn’t at the moment.

“I’m starving.” Gen appeared suddenly in the kitchen doorway, glaring at them both. “When are we eating?”

Zoe shared an amused look with Root before rummaging in a drawer and tossing several take-out menus onto the counter.

“Pick a menu,” said Zoe.

“Take out?” said Gen, glancing around the kitchen properly and only just noticing that it wasn’t bustling with its usual Friday night activity. “Where’s John? He’s supposed to be making mac and cheese. He promised.”

“He’s working,” said Zoe. “You’ll have it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Gen huffed, reaching for the menus. She frowned at them for a few minutes before finally settling on Chinese. Deciding what she wanted, she shoved the menu at Root so she could order and disappeared back into her room.

“Well, she’s charming this evening,” Zoe muttered.

“Do you think I should talk to her?” Root asked, staring at the menu but not really looking at it.

Zoe smirked. “You could try, but I doubt you’d get very far with her in that mood.”

“Right,” Root agreed, but when Zoe disappeared into the living room to call their order in, she couldn’t help but think that she should at least try. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening like this, with Gen quiet and mad at her. And, she knew, the longer she left it, the worse it would become. Better to have the conversation now. Root knew from experience that putting things off only made them a hundred times harder.

She found Gen in her room, lying flat on the bed on her stomach. The comic book she was reading was bright and colourful, but Gen was flicking through the pages too fast to be reading it properly.

“Hey,” said Root. “Can I come in?”

Gen shrugged and she took it as a yes, plonking herself down on the desk chair opposite the bed.

“I know you’re upset about this,” Root began.

“I’m not,” Gen insisted, eyes staring determinedly at the comic in front of her.

“Angry then,” Root said.

Gen sighed. “I’m not angry either.”

“Then what?” asked Root.

“I just…” The muscles in Gen’s jaw clenched tightly and her eyes were burning with something fierce that made Root wish she had never started this conversation. Never put Gen through this. “I just don’t want to have to keep moving around. I never know where I’m going.”

“Gen…” said Root, because there was nothing else she could say. Her stay here was temporary. They all kept saying it. Root had been so busy fearing for her own future, where she was going next, what she would do, that she never thought Gen might have the same fears. That her life was just as unstable as Root’s.

“You're just going to be like her,” said Gen, gripping the edges of her comic book.

“Who?” asked Root.

“My mom,” Gen said quietly. “She always promised that she would come back for me and she never did.”

“Hey,” said Root, cupping Gen’s chin and lifting her eyes up to meet them. “I promised I was staying.”

“Promises don’t mean anything,” Gen muttered. She rolled over so she could sit up, bringing her side. There was a thousand things she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find the words to express them. Not in a way that Gen could understand, anyway.

She was just a kid. A kid that had been let down far too many times. So many that it got harder for her to trust the people around her. The spying on people; all those listening devices and cameras she had hidden away, were her way of dealing with that lack of trust. People always spoke the truth when they thought no one was listening. Root knew that all too well. And Gen had been disappointed too many times in her short life to be willing to give her trust freely. To believe the people she was supposed to be able to trust the most.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Root insisted.

Gen shrugged. “You left before.”

“That was…”

_I was trying to protect you._

_I was scared._

None of it seemed adequate. None of it felt like the truth.

She had been scared, yes. Scared of losing the people that she loved.

But she was also terrified of what that meant. Of what it was to have people to love who also, in their own way, loved you back.

She was terrified of letting them down.

By leaving, by trying to prevent the very thing she was afraid of, she went and did it anyway. Root let them both down.

And now she was about to do it again.

Root sighed and placed the comic book on the nightstand so she could sit on the bed next to Gen, rest a hand on her knee. Gen didn’t flinch away from her this time, but her eyes were shielded as she looked at Root.

“I know you don’t believe me right now,” Root said. “I haven’t given you any reason to. But I’m not her.”

Gen’s jaw tightened. “Everyone always leaves,” she murmured.

“I know,” said Root, thinking of Shaw and the way she just disappeared into the night without a word. She thought about Hanna, walking out of the library all those years ago and never coming back. The way Daizo died in her arms, how helpless she was to stop it. “Sometimes,” she swallowed thickly, “they leave because they have to. You might not know it, but they do.”

“No they don’t,” said Gen. “They leave because they want to. Because they don’t…”

“Don’t what?” asked Root, watching as Gen bit her lip. There was a vulnerability about the way she kept her head ducked low and she looked so small with the way she was curled into herself, like she was trying to hide from the world.

Sometimes, Gen seemed more like a scared little kid than the young teen that she was. She had been robbed of that childhood in so many ways. Just like Root had lost her own. The only difference was, she wasn’t alone. Not like Sam Groves had been.

Not like Root still was.

No answer seemed forthcoming from Gen and eventually Root let it go. It wasn’t important. What was important was that Root proved to her that she was keeping her promise. That she was staying.

“How about next weekend you come stay with me,” Root suggested tentatively. “We can celebrate getting my own place finally.”

“Would Harold be okay with that?” Gen asked. Deflected.

Root shrugged. “I don’t really care if he’s not.”

But Harold had been different as of late. Rather than be difficult about it, Root thought he might encourage Gen to spend the weekend with her.

Gen was silent for a moment. “Can we have a Marvel movie marathon?”

“Sure,” said Root, not caring what they did as long as Gen stopped looking at her - well, rather _avoided_ looking at her - like that. “Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Gen agreed, smiling now. It was catching and Root smiled back, squeezing Gen’s knee tightly before getting up.

“Dinner should be here soon,” Root said over her shoulder. Gen nodded but she didn’t follow Root out right away and Root hovered in the doorway for a moment. It was hard, this thing she was doing. She was never sure she was doing it right. If she was causing more harm than good.

But Gen smiled at her fondly from her position on the bed and Root felt a little better.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, picking up her comic book and some of her other school things that were scattered across the floor. “I’m just tidying up.”

“Okay,” said Root. She watched for a moment, until satisfied that Gen really was okay, then turned on her heel and headed back to the kitchen. Zoe was sat at the counter, browsing through her phone, a glass of wine in front of her. She glanced up when Root walked in, placing her phone on the counter. Root stared at it until the screen went blank.

“Everything okay?” Zoe asked.

“I think so,” said Root. She crossed her arms tight, curling inwards on herself. She felt small and vulnerable and was glad Reese wasn’t here tonight. In front of Zoe it wasn’t so bad, but she still let her arms fall awkwardly at her sides, trying to make it look like she wasn’t hugging herself. “She’s just… I think she misses her mom.”

Zoe frowned. “Really? She never mentions her.”

Root shrugged. “Yeah, she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

In fact, tonight had been the first time Gen had mention her mother since coming back from Moscow.

“You know,” said Zoe slowly, “I would have said it was Shaw that she was missing.”

“Oh,” said Root. She wasn’t sure what else to say to that. Zoe was probably right; Shaw and Gen were close. They always had been, in their own way. But that was another thing Gen never mentioned, apart from odd occasions where she insisted that Shaw was coming back. It had been so long, now, that Root wasn’t sure she could really believe that anymore.

Was this what it was like after she had left? This constant wondering and never knowing. Never knowing if Sameen was alive or dead, if she was going to walk through the front door and surprise them all.

It was horrible, this uncertainty. It was consuming, taking over Root until that was all that she was. And it stayed with her, for the rest of the evening. When dinner arrived, steaming Chinese food in cardboard boxes, Root wasn’t hungry anymore. She picked at her food, chopsticks held loosely between her fingers as she watched Gen shovel food into her mouth like she hadn’t been fed a proper meal in months. She had enough sense of herself left to make small talk with Zoe, and if the other woman sensed the shift in atmosphere, she never mentioned it.

“Should you be drinking that?” Gen asked suddenly, the first time she had opened her mouth for something other than filling it with food since sitting down. Root glanced up, surprised by the disapproving look she was directing at Zoe.

Wine glass at mouth, Zoe paused. “What?”

“Should you be drinking that in your condition?” Gen said, eyes thin and mouth taut. Root froze, remembering their conversation on the park bench the other day. She had put it down to Gen just messing with her for kicks. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Condition?” said Zoe. She put her wine glass down, eyes darting at Root before landing carefully on Gen. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re pregnant,” said Gen as if she were stupid.

“What?” said Zoe. It came out more as a chuckle as she stared incredulously at Gen. “I’m not-”

Zoe sobered up quickly; eyes widening and mouth going slack.

Root caught Gen’s eye and mouthed, _she didn’t know?_

Gen shrugged, food forgotten as she turned her attention back to Zoe when she finally spoke again.

“What date is it?” Zoe asked hoarsely.

“The 28th,” said Root.

“No,” said Zoe, shaking her head. “That can’t… Would you excuse me?” She stood up abruptly, snatching her purse from the counter and disappearing from the apartment. The front door slammed loudly, resonating in the silence that followed her departure.

“There’s a drugstore down the street,” Gen said knowingly.

“I can’t believe she didn’t know and you just…” Root turned accusing eyes onto Gen.

“What?” said Gen defensively. “She throws up constantly and her boobs are bigger. What else could it be?”

Well they were going to find out soon either way. Zoe returned about fifteen minutes later, white paper bag clutched in one hand. She didn’t say a word to either of them, just disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door. It was the kind of occasion where solitariness would probably have been preferred and Root busied herself with cleaning up their dinner remains to stave off the urge to leave and leave Zoe in peace. Except she couldn’t exactly take Gen with her when she was still living in the library and she didn’t really want to leave Zoe to deal with… whatever result there may be with only a thirteen year old for comfort.

Counter cleared, Root sat back down in her seat. “What?” she said, watching Gen bounce slightly in her seat.

“Aren’t you a little excited?”

“Not really,” Root said at the same time as Zoe appeared in the kitchen doorway looking decidedly paler than usual. “Well?”

“I’m pregnant,” said Zoe. She said it like she still didn’t believe and, quite frankly, Root wasn’t so sure _she_ wanted to believe it either.

“Awesome!” Gen exclaimed, jumping out of her seat and wrapping her arms around Zoe’s waist. Startled by the gesture, Zoe patted Gen’s shoulder absently in a daze.

Root exhaled loudly, stretching over the counter for Zoe’s abandoned glass of wine. It had warmed up by now, the glass free of condensation, but Root had drank worse.

“I thought you were driving,” said Gen, letting Zoe go.

“John Reese is producing offspring,” said Root flatly, taking a healthy gulp of wine and grimacing at both the thought and the way the alcohol burned in her stomach. “I’ll get a cab.”

“I think I need to sit down,” said Zoe. Instead of going for the kitchen stool, close and convenient, she headed into the living room, her movements sluggish, like walking in a dream.

“Is she okay?” Gen asked.

Root shrugged and took another drink of wine. She was nearing the bottom now and hoped there was more in the refrigerator.

“She’s probably just in shock,” said Root. “I know I am,” she added under her breath and tried to imagine what a miniature version of Reese would look like. She didn’t like it and wondered if the kid would come out shooting kneecaps.

Giggling to herself, Root drained the last of the wine, slamming the glass onto the counter. She found Gen staring at her, face frowning deeply. Of course she would only think of this as a good thing. The impracticalities of a baby - of _John Reese’s baby_ \- were lost on her. This was probably the last thing either of them wanted and Root couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“That’s not very nice,” Gen scolded, before strolling determinedly after Zoe and, to her retreating back, Root rolled her eyes. She wiped the smile from her face anyway and followed her, feet slightly unsteady after consuming too much wine far too fast.

The living room had grown dark with the setting sun, nothing but the dim glow of the city lights seeping through the window. It cast a strange hue on the place, like an old photograph blurred with time. Root turned on a lamp, blinking into the brightness and frowning when she caught sight of Zoe, sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She struggled to find something to say and so, apparently, did Gen, when she stared expectantly and Root for what to do next.

Except Root didn’t know what to next and she wished, even if it meant leaving Gen alone with Zoe, that she had left when she had the opportunity.

“Do you need anything?” Root asked lamely. Zoe said nothing; continued to stare at her hands. For a moment, Root worried she had slipped into an almost catatonic-like state and Zoe didn’t move again until they all heard the sounds of the front door opening and John Reese calling out if anybody was home.

Zoe’s head lifted up sharply, but she remained silent as Reese appeared in the entrance.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re all here.”

He smiled warmly at them all, but Root wasn’t interested in him. Her eyes had focused on the figure behind him, small and unexpected and Root forgot how to breathe.

“Look who I found,” said Reese, like he had picked up a lost puppy found on the street and brought it home to show everyone.

“Shaw!” Gen exclaimed. “Your back.” She rushed forwards, halting abruptly a few inches from Shaw when she stiffened. “Are you okay?” she asked, frowning in concern.

Shaw nodded, wincing as she clutched at her right side, just above her hip. “I’m okay, kiddo.” Her voice was hoarse, broken like shattered glass. She seemed paler than Root remembered, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in years. There was a hollowness to her eyes that Root couldn’t bear to look at for very long, but she found she couldn’t look away when they glanced up to meet her own.

“Hi,” Root breathed out because she didn’t know what else to say. It didn’t seem like enough. She wished Reese had called ahead, that she had been given some time to prepare for this moment. This moment she wasn’t ready for.

Everything she had been ignoring, bottling up and pretending she wasn’t feeling anymore came rushing back when Shaw returned her greeting with a small smile.

“Hey,” said Sameen and, to Root, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. She was staring, she realised, yet she could not bring herself to look away.

“Is everything okay?” Reese asked.

Root tore her gaze away from Shaw, finally, to find him watching Zoe carefully. She nodded absently, still hovering near the couch and still clasping her hands tightly together.

“You’ll never guess what,” said Gen excitedly. Something about her tone sparked panic in Zoe’s eyes and she turned them to Root, silently pleading for help.

Moving on instinct, Root clamped a hand over Gen’s mouth, muffling her next sentence.

“We’re going out for ice cream,” said Root, gently nudging Gen in the direction of the front door. “There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Frowning slightly, Reese only nodded in response. It was Shaw’s suspicious look that she was wary of, but Root flashed her a smile as she left, showing her teeth. It seemed to disarm Shaw for long enough that she didn’t ask what was really going on, making it easier for Root and Gen to escape.

“What’s going on?” Gen asked once they were out in the hallway and no one could hear her. She shrugged out of Root’s grip, annoyed. “I don’t _want_ ice cream.”

“Fine,” said Root, pushing Gen gently with the palm of her hand until she started moving again, “we’ll just go for a walk then.”

“Wait,” said Gen, huffing as they got into the elevator. “I suppose I could have _one_ scoop.”

Root smirked. “I thought so.”

There was a place a few blocks away, within walking distance and Root was glad of the cool night air that whipped at her skin. She had sobered up slightly. Both from Zoe’s reaction and from seeing Shaw again, and she could feel a headache coming on. Her skin felt flushed too, from more than just alcohol she suspected and the short walk was enough to get her shivering again.

The cafe, once they reached it, was winding down from the evening rush. Root and Gen took a table at the back, smiling at the short Italian owner as he chatted politely to them and asked for their order. Feeling the sedative effects of the wine she had practically downed earlier, Root ordered a coffee. Gen, meanwhile, went for the chocolate fudge sundae. Definitely _more_ than the one scoop they had agreed to.

“So how come we had to rush out of there so fast?” Gen asked.

Root raised her eyebrow, wondering if Gen was messing with her again or if she really was being dense. Her blank look kind of confirmed the latter.

“About Zoe’s… news,” Root said, for lack of a better term. She would rather not think about Reese’s spawn any more than she had to.

“Isn’t it great?” said Gen, grinning.

Root forced her mouth into a smile. “I guess. Listen-”

She cut herself off when the waiter appeared with their order. Root wrapped her hands around her mug of coffee and watched as Gen took a bite of ice cream. Taking a sip of her drink, Root grimaced at how weak it tasted. She swallowed it down anyway and licked her lips clean before she spoke again.

“I know you’re excited about this,” Root began, “but it’s not your news to tell.”

“Oh,” said Gen. With the spoon still in her mouth, the sound came out muffled. Gen licked the spoon clean before diving it back into her sundae glass for another bite. “I know that. I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Right,” said Root sceptically. “You told me before Zoe even knew.”

“That was an accident,” Gen said, sucking ice cream into her mouth and getting her lips covered with it in the process. “It’s not my fault she hadn’t figured it out yet.”

“Maybe,” said Root. “But that’s not the point.”

Gen rolled her eyes. “I get it. Don’t tell anyone. I know how to keep a secret, you know.”

Root doubted that very much but decided not to argue about it.

“Now can we talk about Shaw?” said Gen, scraping the last remnants of ice cream and fudge sauce from the sides of the glass.

“Shaw,” said Root and remembered how tired she looked.

“Did she seem okay to you?” Gen asked. Finally deciding she had gotten all she could get out of the glass, Gen dropped her spoon into it with a clatter and wiped her face clean on a napkin.

“What do you mean?” Root asked. She had left her coffee mostly untouched and when she brought it to her lips now, she felt sickened by the smell of it and couldn’t force herself to take a drink. Root put the mug back on the table and pushed it aside, watching Gen carefully.

“I dunno…” Gen shrugged. “I think she might have been hurt.”

“Maybe,” said Root. Shaw had been holding onto her side like she had been injured. But this was _Sameen Shaw_ they were talking about and she doubted that, whatever it was, that it was anything serious.

“What do you think she was doing all this time?” Gen asked. The question Root had been thinking about constantly, whether she realised it or not, for months.

“I’m not sure,” said Root. In fact, she had no idea. None of them did. At least, they hadn’t told her if they did. “We should head back,” she added, deciding she didn’t want to have this conversation anymore. Didn’t want to think about Shaw and what she had been doing, what had caused her to grimace in pain in front of everyone when showing the smallest of weaknesses was something Shaw hated to do.

Root left more than enough money on the table to cover their bill and ushered Gen out of the cafe. They didn’t talk about Shaw on the way back, or Zoe, and Root was glad for Gen’s silence for once.

When they got back to the apartment, Gen headed straight for her room, barely saying goodbye to Root before the door was slammed shut with more force than was necessary.

“She in a mood again?” Reese asked when Root wandered into the living room.

Root shrugged. He was making up the couch into a makeshift bed and Root frowned at it. “What’s going on?”

Reese glanced at her, pausing with a pillow half-covered with a blue striped pillowcase. “Shaw’s spending the night,” he said.

“Did she say what happened?” Root asked.

“Not to me,” said Reese. He seemed unconcerned by this, but Root doubted very much that he was. If anything, he had asked Harold more times than she had wondered about where Shaw was and what she was doing.

“Where’s Zoe?” Root asked.

“Lying down,” Reese explained. “She had a headache or something.”

_Or something_ , Root agreed.

Still not feeling up to driving, Root said goodnight to Reese and called herself a cab. On a busy Friday night, she would have to wait for it to arrive, but the woman on the other end of the line assured her it wouldn’t be more than twenty minutes. Root sighed and hung up the phone.

Wine and coffee finally caught up with Root and she decided to take advantage of the bathroom while she waited for her cab to arrive. The apartment was so still and quiet that Root almost forgot she wasn’t alone and she jumped slightly when she opened the bathroom door.

Sameen Shaw glanced up at her; the top half of her body twisting round as she looked over her shoulder. She was wearing grey sweat pants and a black tank top rolled up to reveal smooth skin and taut muscles. It was all so familiar to Root; lines and scars like a well-worn map she had memorised years ago. The only thing out of place was the raw and ragged wound on Shaw’s side.

“Sorry,” said Root, “I didn’t mean to…”

_Walk in on you? Stare?_ Root thought, and realised she was still doing it. She tore her gaze up to meet Shaw’s and wished she could read the sterile look on her face.

“Do you need a hand with that?” she asked eventually, gesturing at the fresh dressing Shaw was struggling to place over her wound. Shaw stared at the white material for a moment. Eventually, she nodded, holding the dressing out for Root to take.

“Gunshot wound?” Root asked, taking the dressing.

“Stab wound,” Shaw corrected, flinching slightly when Root carefully placed the new dressing over the wound. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s not like you,” said Root softly. Finishing her work, Root glanced up and was surprised by how close Shaw was. She could feel the air leave Shaw’s mouth, billowing her hair and her eyes were drawn to those lips, startlingly red against the pale skin of Shaw’s face.

Swallowing thickly, Shaw said, “Root…”

“I should go,” said Root bluntly, dropping her gaze and realising her hands were still on Shaw’s skin. Around her fingertips, goose bumps had formed. In the warmth of the apartment, Root doubted they were caused by being cold. “I’ve got a cab waiting.”

“Okay,” said Shaw and seemed to shiver as Root let her hands fall to her side. Shaw pulled her tank top back into place, avoiding Root’s eyes.

There were so many questions Root wanted to ask. Where Shaw had been and how exactly she had got stabbed. Why she hadn’t called any of them.

But most importantly, Root wanted to know what the hell that look in Shaw’s eyes meant. If it meant anything at all. They were dark and intense and Root almost flinched under the weight of Shaw’s gaze. It was easier to walk away after that, but even easier to stay when Shaw said her name again.

She paused, turning to find Shaw biting her lip as she stared at her.

“You look good,” Shaw said eventually, quietly, but Root still heard the _you look better_ anyway, underneath it all. Better than Moscow. Better than after Jason.

Root smiled, something small that felt like it should be so much bigger. It deserved to be brighter than the darkness of the night.

“You look like crap,” Root said. It was meant as a joke, but they both heard the truth of it.

Shaw shrugged. “Stab wounds will do that to you.”

“Yes,” Root agreed. Although she had never been stabbed herself. Shot plenty of times, but never stabbed.

Shaw opened her mouth, but nothing came out. They could stand here all night, if Root was patient, and still Shaw would struggle to say what she meant.

But now wasn’t the time for that. Later.Shaw was back. She was unharmed, more or less. Whatever else didn’t matter right now. It could wait. They had time now, after all.

“Goodnight, Sameen,” Root said firmly and could feel Shaw’s eyes on her as she walked away.


	22. Part 2: Chapter 22

It wasn’t until she had to pack her things in the library that Root realised the amount of stuff she had accumulated over the weeks she had been staying there. Most of it was computer tech, things she needed for her project with Harold. A lot of it was clothes and some books Harold told her she could keep if she wasn’t finished reading them yet.

There wasn’t much else.

The only thing that was unique to her, personal, was the photograph of her and Gen taken one night at dinner with John and Zoe. Root didn’t even remember the photograph being taken – her arm around Gen at the dinner table, Gen smiling happily for once - until Zoe handed it to her one evening, wrapped up and framed. Root had been so touched by the gesture that she had been stunned into silence. A croaky thank you that seemed lame coming from her mouth.

Now Root couldn’t decide where she wanted to put it in her new place. In the library vault, there was only one room, and it was always within her range of vision. Her new apartment was three times the size and Root couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted the framed photograph in her bedroom on the nightstand or displayed in the living room. Eventually, she decided on the living room, placing it next to her brand new widescreen TV that Harold had got her as a moving in present. She suspected this was mainly for Gen’s benefit, for when she stayed over. Root wasn’t all that much into TV, but Gen would love it.

Photo frame positioned just right, Root took a step back and glanced around the room. It still looked too bare. Not like the minimalistic look Zoe and John’s place had. Instead, it looked sad and empty and Root wished she had thought to buy more decorations, nick-nacks or something to make the place look more like home.

Except… she wasn’t even sure what that was. When she was kid, the only ornaments her mother displayed where religious paintings or that awful crucifix on the wall above her bed. Their home had been much smaller that Root’s place now, but it did seem fuller, more alive, Root remembered, than what she had now.

Her mother hadn’t even been all that religious. They would go to church on Sunday’s, sometimes, on the days when her mother was up to it. A good day was rare though, when Root was a kid. As she got older, those good days became even fewer and far between and it was all Root could do to stay on her mother’s good side and not fall under her wrath.

Now she had the luxury to decide how her home looked. The only problem was, she couldn’t decide. It felt like something was missing but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Not even after she had unpacked the last of her things, finding them a suitable place. She didn’t feel settled as she stood in the middle of her living room, looking around her small apartment. She wondered if the feeling would pass, told herself it would, given enough time. After she had spent a few nights here… Things would be fine. This was the start of her new life.

Yet why did it feel like she was still stuck?

A knock at her front door caused Root to jump. She wasn’t expecting any visitors and hoped it wasn’t any of her new neighbours. She wasn’t really in the mood for making nice with strangers.

But when Root opened the door it was Zoe Morgan she found on the other side.

“Zoe?” said Root in surprise. She looked out of place in the dank hallway with her stylish charcoal grey dress and designer handbag. “What are you...”

“I, ah…Can I come in?” Zoe asked, glancing up and down the hallway. Root heard another apartment door open and close and gestured for Zoe to come inside. She offered Zoe a drink, realised she didn’t actually have anything yet and was relieved when Zoe declined.

“Is everything okay?” Root asked when Zoe continued to stand motionless in the middle of her living room.

After a moment, Zoe nodded absently. “How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” said Root. Narrowing her eyes, she looked hard at Zoe until she eventually gave in, sighed, and sat heavily down on the couch.

“I need a favour,” Zoe said eventually. She looked at her hands, clutching her purse tightly on her lap, rather than looking at Root.

“Okay,” Root said warily, wondering if this was another job Zoe needed help with. But Root had helped out a few times and she had never seen Zoe so… tense about it. “What do you need?”

“I…” Zoe began. Her knuckles had gone white from gripping her purse so hard. “They said I should bring someone with me. For… _after._ And I don’t have many friends… I mean there’s no one – I haven’t told... Look, my other option is Shaw and I don’t really want a detailed account of how they actually do this, so…”

“Wait,” said Root, shaking her head in confusion. “Do what?” Biting her lip, Zoe gestured at her midriff. “Oh,” said Root, her eyes widening. “ _Oh._ You’re getting…”

“Yes,” said Zoe.

“Oh,” Root said again and wished her mouth would just shut the hell up. “Yes, I’ll come with you. Of course.”

Zoe nodded, briefly, but there was a gratitude in her eyes that Root found a little overwhelming. She was glad to get a moment of reprieve from it; disappearing into the bedroom to collect her jacket. When she came back, Zoe was standing in the middle of the living room, drumming her fingers impatiently against her thigh as she stared at the photograph Root had displayed only moments before Zoe had knocked on her door.

“Ready?” Root asked. Zoe jumped and Root looked away, pretending she hadn’t noticed, as she pulled her jacket on.

“You look happy,” said Zoe softly.

Root glanced up from where she was struggling to pull her zipper up. “Hm?”

“You and Gen,” said Zoe, gesturing at the photograph. “You both look happy.”

Root smiled. Shrugged. Finally she got the zipper of her jacket unstuck and pulled it up to her throat. _We do_ , she thought, but appearances could be deceiving.

“Ready to go?” Root asked.

Zoe nodded, hesitated for a moment before inhaling deeply and stepping towards the front door. Root watched her, deciding she didn’t like Zoe like this. Dazed. Confused. _Scared._

“Could you…” said Zoe, clearing her throat slightly. “Could you drive?”

“Sure,” said Root. It wasn’t until then, that Root noticed Zoe’s hands were shaking. She took the car keys from fingers that were warm and weak and led Zoe out of the apartment.

They drove in silence. Root wasn’t sure what she was even supposed to say in a situation like this. She hadn’t thought much about it in the past few days, beyond being horrified by the thought of John Reese procreating. How Zoe had felt about it… Root hadn’t really considered it. She remembered how stunned she had been, after she had first found out, but Root had put that down to being in shock. Now Zoe seemed even worse; pale and shaky, like it was all she could do just to remain standing. Her voice was croaky when she gave Root directions and when Root parked Zoe’s sports car in the clinic parking lot, she sat there in silence, staring out of the window like she wasn’t even aware of where she was.

When they had been sitting there for at least five minutes, Root was sure, the engine off and the car slowly cooling down now that the heater was off, Root cleared are throat awkwardly.

“What time’s your appointment?”

“Oh,” said Zoe, shaking her head out of a daze. She checked her watch, hands still trembling. “In about ten minutes. We should probably go in.”

“Yeah,” agreed Root. She unclasped her seat belt, but when Zoe made no move to do so herself, she remained in her seat. “Are you sure –”

“Let’s go,” said Zoe abruptly, getting out of the car before Root could blink. Quickly scrambling out of her seat, Root followed her. Zoe seemed surer of herself now, walking briskly towards the clinic and not looking back. Root had to quicken her step to catch up with her and was out of breath by the time she stepped inside, close behind Zoe’s heels.

The woman behind the reception desk took Zoe’s name and told her to take a seat in the waiting area.

“We’re running a few minutes late today,” the receptionist apologised as they sat down.

They were alone for now and the silence seemed to unsettle Zoe once again, causing her to wring her hands together tightly in her lap and bite her lip. Root sat next to her, glancing around the small room. The last time she had been in a waiting room was a prison in Moscow, equally as empty. Although, this time, she doubted Shaw would storm in, seething and violent. There wasn’t much storming Shaw could do anyway, not if she was still recovering from that injury at her side. _Just above her kidney_ , Root mused and quickly decided she didn’t want to think about Shaw anymore. Or that look Shaw had been giving in her in the bathroom the other night. She had been thinking about it non-stop for days; imagining what would have happened next if Root hadn’t left.

It didn’t matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t in that place anymore, that she had moved on, her subconscious had other ideas. Her dreams were just as vivid as ever, if somewhat more pleasant. And distracting. _Very_ distracting.

The one from last night still left her heart racing and Root glanced at the posters on the walls, forcing herself to read them so her mind wouldn’t play the images over again for her. She thought about reading one of the magazines on the table in front of her – celebrity gossip was bound to be slightly more interesting than the poster depicting “five signs you may have breast cancer” – but doubted it was appropriate with Zoe still sitting next to her.

“This was never supposed to happen,” Zoe said suddenly. Root glanced at her, gratefully tearing her eyes away from the dull medical poster. “We were only ever meant to be casual, John and I.”

“You live together,” Root pointed out.

“Yeah,” Zoe exhaled humourlessly. “Not sure how that happened either.”

With that, Root could sympathise. A similar situation had happened with her and Shaw. They were already breaking Shaw’s strict three night’s only rule and, for Root, that had been enough. She hadn’t necessarily wanted anything more. She was happy with Shaw the way that she was. But she spent all her time at Shaw’s place when she wasn’t away working for the Machine and soon it became undeniable to both of them that Root, without either of them knowing _when_ exactly it had happened, had moved in.

At least with Shaw, neither of them had run the risk of getting knocked up.

Zoe sighed loudly, leaning her head back to rest against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. “Kids was never something I… I never really thought about it. When you’re young you don’t. Then suddenly… twenty years went by and now…”

“Now?” Root prompted.

“John’s great...” Zoe started. “But I…”

“You haven’t told him,” Root guessed. _Of course_ , she thought, she really should have realised sooner. John Reese, ever the noble gentleman, would never let Zoe come here by herself if he knew.

“No,” said Zoe, her voice so close to a whisper that Root was glad for the still, emptiness of the waiting room. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Root asked.

Zoe smiled, something small and fond. “Because I know him,” she said. “He never mentions it, but I’ve seen it lately. Since Gen moved in… he’s been happy. _Really_ happy. I mean,” Zoe added, “they argue constantly, but he likes having a busy house. Likes the noise.”

“He’d want you to keep it?” said Root.

Zoe sat up, clenching her teeth tightly. “How could we ever… He walks out of that door every day and I never know if he’s coming back. If he’s finally going to slip up somewhere and a bullet’s going to catch up with him. And what,” she added angrily, “we’re supposed to raise a child with that uncertainty?”

But life as whole, Root was slowly coming to realise – and perhaps she had always known – was an uncertainty. Nothing lasted forever. People died, old and young, unexpectedly and violently all the time. Root knew that better than anyone. She felt her heart clench at the thought and swallowed until the tightness went away.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” said Root, head shaking with vexation. “But don’t you think you should tell John before you make any rash decisions that you can’t take back?”

Unsurprisingly, Zoe remained silent. Her eyes closed, the conversation decidedly over. There was nothing else Root could say anyway. The decision was in Zoe’s hands. As it had always been. All Root could do was support her decision either way. As her friend.

Root fought back a smile, most definitely not fitting for the situation. It felt strange, having a friend. Being trusted with something like this. Root had never imagined it, never even considered the two of them being this close, a few weeks ago.

Yet here they were.

A nurse came into the waiting room, clipboard in hand. Pointlessly, as they were the only two people waiting, she called Zoe’s name and smiled reassuringly when Zoe stood up on shaky legs.

“Actually,” said Zoe when the nurse smiled at her warmly. “I think I’m going to have to cancel my appointment.”

*

It snowed two days later. Nothing that lasted for very long. The kind of snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground. It was still freezing though and Root was disappointed that she had to abandon her favourite leather jacket in favour of something that would actually keep her warm.

As usual, the library was well heated when she arrived, warm air blasting out of the old heaters throughout the entire building. Root was glad she had opted out of a scarf and hat that morning and had to unbutton her jacket before she had even climbed the first flight of stairs.

She clutched her heavy laptop case in one hand, surprised to hear the sounds of arguing from three floors above. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but as she ascended, she made out Harold’s voice. Angry and loud. The other…

_Shaw?_

Root had thought she was still housebound at John’s place and was surprised to hear her now, not sounding nearly as angry as Harold, but definitely harsher tones than was necessary for a normal conversation.

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Finch?” Shaw was saying as Root neared Harold’s office. She kept her footsteps small and measured, carefully avoiding the squeakiest of the old floorboards.

“This was _not_ what we agreed to and you know it,” Harold snapped. Something chirped in the vicinity of Harold’s desk and he paused in what he was about to say next. It was a warning, Root realised, a little too late, when Harold’s startled eyes rose to meet hers. She tried not to feel the Machine’s betrayal and instead forced the brightest of smirks on her face. “Ms. Groves?” said Harold, clearing his throat and glancing briefly at Shaw.

“Afternoon, Harry,” said Root radiantly. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

She turned her gaze onto Shaw and couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth quirking upwards into a smile more genuine than the one she had directed at Harold.

“Hi,” said Shaw. Her eyes found Root’s, boring into her and never breaking away.

It wasn’t until Harold cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Are those my codes?” that Root realised she was staring to.

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head out of its funk and handing Harold her laptop. “I tweaked the ones you asked.”

“Excellent,” he said, turning the laptop on at his desk. Root’s eyes quickly found Shaw again.

“You two are working together?” asked Shaw.

“After a fashion,” said Harold vaguely.

Shaw seemed surprised, but out of the corner of her eye, Root thought she could see her smiling in something that looked almost warm for Shaw.

“What else have I missed since I’ve been gone?” Shaw asked. “Well, apart from Gen getting kicked out of school.”

Root pursed her lips in thought. “Pretty sure that’s everything.”

“As if the two compare,” Harold said testily from behind his computer. Root scowled at his bad mood and wondered, once again, what the argument she had walked in on had been about. She doubted either of them would be forthcoming, however, and decided not to bring it up for now.

“I never said they did,” said Root, catching Shaw’s gaze and rolling her eyes. Shaw smirked back and Root felt a warmth in her chest far more sizzling than the heat currently being blown out through the heaters. She felt ridiculous for it. She should not be feeling this way from something so innocuous. Should not be looking for the smallest of gestures and reading way too much into them.

But she couldn’t help it.

In a lot of ways, it would have been easier if Shaw had come back angry. Root wasn’t sure what _this_ was, why Shaw seemed so… _intense_. Happy to see her, even.

_You’re reading too much into it_ , she reminded herself. _She’s just being polite._

Except Sameen Shaw didn’t do polite.

“Yes,” said Harold absently from behind his computer. Root stiffened, forgetting he was still there; he had been quiet as he looked through Root’s codes. Shaw did a similar double take and Root smiled at her sheepishly before turning her attention to Harold. Anything to stop her from staring like an idiot. “These’ll have to do.”

“Have to do?” said Root, raising her eyebrow and trying not to sound affronted. Harold shot her an impatient look.

“Yes, they are very well done,” he said, appeasing, and Root decided to forgive him. This time. She didn’t really appreciate all that much her work being insulted like that and wondered what was on his mind. He hadn’t been this grouchy, with her at least, for a while.

Under heavy footsteps, the floorboards behind them creaked. Root glanced over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at John Reese. He looked pale, like he had drank too much the night before and now it was catching up with him.

But Root knew that look was nothing to do with alcohol.

“Mr Reese?” said Harold with a frown. “I thought I gave you the day off.”

“Hi,” Reese croaked.

“Hello,” said Harold stupidly, a befuddled look crossing his face. “Are you alright?”

Reese coughed. “Zoe’s…um… I’m going to be a father.”

“Oh,” said Harold.

“What?” Shaw snapped, looking as disgusted as Root had felt when she had first found out. She stared hard at Reese for a moment as if she was expecting him to suddenly burst out laughing and declare it as a joke.

“Ms. Morgan is pregnant?” Harold clarified. When Reese nodded, a smile blossomed on Harold’s face, his bad mood forgotten. “Well that’s wonderful news!” he said. He limped over to Reese, clasped his hand in his own and shook it vigorously. “Congratulations, Mr Reese.”

“Yeah…” said Root when Harold stared between her and Shaw expectantly. “Well done,” she added lamely, patting Reese on the shoulder in what she hoped was a congratulatory type of way.

“Uh, thanks,” said Reese, staring at her in puzzlement as she took a step back.

Shaw narrowed her eyes at her. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

Root coughed. “A little bit.”

But if Reese was annoyed that she had found out before him, he was too dazed to even register it at the moment.

“I’d suggest we go out and celebrate,” said Harold, gathering up his coat and laptop, “but I’m meeting Detective Fusco about our latest number.”

“You could always come with me to pick up Gen,” Shaw suggested to Reese. She still looked horrified by the thought a miniature version of John Reese crawling about, but at least she was functioning better than Reese currently was. “We’re going for milkshakes.”

“Milkshakes,” said Reese absently.

“Maybe we should put something a little stronger in yours,” said Shaw, gesturing for him to move ahead of her when he continued to remain motionless. “Come on, big guy.” She clubbed him on the back of the shoulder and it seemed to get him moving. “You coming?” she added to Root.

Root smiled and followed them out of the library.

“I’m sure Ms. Zhirova will be thrilled by the news,” said Harold as he followed behind Root.

“Actually,” said Root. “She already knows too.”

“Oh,” said Harold, looking rather affronted. “Were we the last to know- Has she been spying again?” he asked, suddenly tensing up.

Root had to fight to contain her eye roll. “Technically, no.”

“Right,” Shaw snorted under her breath. Harold didn’t appear to hear her and he parted ways with them once they stepped outside into the cold city street. The snow had stopped but the temperature hadn’t risen any further and wasn’t likely to for the rest of the day.

Still too much in a dazed funk to drive, Root ended up getting behind the wheel. She was surprised when Shaw so readily let her take the keys, climbing into the back seat. Her movements were stiff and Root worried at her bottom lip with her teeth as she watched Shaw grimace in pain through the rear view mirror. That stab wound must have been worse than she let on, if it was enough to make Sameen Shaw let someone else drive for her.

But now wasn’t the time to mention it. It wasn’t even her place to ask and Root forced herself to stop worrying about things that were out of her control. Focus on the things she _could_ do. Like drive them to Gen’s school in one piece.

The car was silent – _too_ silent – and Root found it more than a little unnerving. She couldn’t stop glancing at Shaw in the rear view and she could have sworn more than once that Shaw had just glanced away, perhaps a little too quickly. It certainly felt like she was being scrutinised, and not as means to assess how good her driving skills were. But she could never be sure. It could just be her imagination. It probably _was_ her imagination.

She remembered the last time she had seen Shaw, in Moscow. Shaw had been angry then. Confused when Root had freaked out on her in the hotel bathroom. Both of those things were gone now and Root couldn’t fathom what had changed. What had happened to Shaw during those nine weeks away that had left her without her anger. Left her eyeing Root with _that_ look that made Root nervous for several different reasons.

Root was glad when she finally pulled the car to a stop outside of Gen’s school and found Gen already waiting for them. She slid into the back beside Shaw and – now Root was positive she wasn’t imagining it – Shaw tore her gaze away from the front to focus on Gen.

“What’s going on?” Gen asked, glancing between Root and Reese. “Why are you guys here?”

“Nothing’s going on,” said Root calmly, watching as Gen visibly relaxed. “We just got a craving for milkshakes, is all.”

“Oh,” said Gen, settling back into her seat.

“Zoe’s pregnant,” Shaw said bluntly and Reese finally moved for the first time since getting into the car.

“Oh thank god you guys know,” said Gen, practically bursting with relief. “I’ve been dying to talk about it for days.”

Root smirked and was pretty sure she was the only one to hear Reese grumbling under his breath about a thirteen year old finding out before he did.

They stopped for milkshakes at a place Shaw knew about that apparently had “the best milkshakes in the state” and took a booth up at the back. Gen ordered peanut butter chocolate, the same as Shaw, whilst both Root and Reese just settled for coffee.

Once Gen had finished telling them about her day – which took all of five seconds – she kept trying to steer the conversation back to the baby. Every time, Shaw would groan and pull a disgusted face and Root tried to change the subject. She wasn’t that keen to talk about it either. For once, Gen’s enthusiasm just wasn’t catching and she kept glancing at Reese, silent and stoic across the table as he stared at his untouched coffee, wondering how much, exactly, Zoe had told him. If this daze was more than impending fatherhood. Zoe may have told him she was pregnant, but had she also shared with him her fears about what that might mean? How she had been so ready to get rid of it because of them?

She wanted to ask, but knew it wasn’t her business, and especially not in front of the other two. Gen wouldn’t understand for a start.

“Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?” Gen asked the table at large. Shaw looked like she was about ready to slam her head against the table.

“Gen,” said Root, “how about we talk about something else?”

“Like what?” said Gen haughtily. She glanced between Root and Shaw, a smirk blossoming on her face that Root _really_ didn’t like. “How about we talk about –”

“I’m gonna ask Zoe to marry me,” Reese said abruptly.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Shaw said scornfully, pushing her milkshake aside, half finished, like she was suddenly feeling nauseous.

“Really?” said Gen brightly.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Root doubtfully, forehead creasing in a frown. She didn’t know Zoe all that well, but judging from their conversation the other day, this was probably the _last_ thing she would want.

But, of course, John Reese was going to do the noble, honourable thing. Even if it was the stupid, obvious thing to do and was most likely going to backfire on him.

“How are you going to do it? Are you going to go down on one knee? Do you have a ring?” Gen asked rapidly. “Zoe’s a classy chick, you know. You have to do it properly.”

“Uh…” said Reese dumbly. Clearly, he hadn’t thought any of this through.

“You need a plan,” said Gen. “A proposal plan.”

“Oh, for fu –” Shaw began.

“And you can go wait outside if you aren’t going to be helpful,” Gen scolded.

“Fine,” said Shaw, shuffling out of her seat. “I don’t want to be here for this train wreck anyway.”

Root couldn’t agree more. But… she hadn’t seen Gen this excited about something in a long time. And she wasn’t about to put a stop to it now. Even if it did mean she had to cringe her way through the next few minutes, listening to Gen and Reese devise a plan. She managed to contain herself – for rather a long time, she thought proudly – and it wasn’t until Reese started practicing his proposal speech that she snorted with laughter. Both of them sent her out after that and she grinned all the way out to the car.

“What did you do?” Shaw asked when Root sidled up next to her. Root still had the keys and Shaw had been forced to remain outside in the cold, leaning against the passenger door.

“John started practicing his ‘will you marry me’s’,” Root explained, still grinning. “Apparently it wasn’t supposed to be funny.”

Shaw smirked, shaking her head lightly. “Can you believe this? Reese having a kid?”

“It is a horrifying thought,” Root agreed, shoving her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. The sensible thing to do would be to get into the car, but that would put an end to their conversation, and Root wasn’t quite ready for that yet. There was an easiness to the whole thing that Root feared, if they moved, would be shattered. She didn’t want to go back to awkward and angry.

“How’s your stab wound?” Root asked instead.

Shaw raised an eyebrow, perhaps surprised by the odd question. “My stab wound is fine.”

Root smiled, something big and bright that she couldn’t stop. “Okay. Good.”

She wanted to ask more, to keep the conversation going. Every question on the tip of her tongue all led back to Moscow and, she knew from experience, would only result in either annoyance from Shaw or a vague answer anyway. She asked about Daniel instead. Although he had been with Shaw, wherever that may have been, she worded her question elusively enough to avoid grating Shaw’s irritation.

“I’m not sure where he is,” said Shaw. The smirk slipped from her face, a stoic frown slipping into place. “He left before I did.”

“Oh,” said Root, finding it odd that they hadn’t heard from him. But she could tell from the way Shaw’s body stiffened that it would be foolish to probe further. So she kept her mouth shut. Kept her curiosity at bay and let the silence lull over them.

A few minutes later, Gen and Reese walked out of the diner. Reese seemed calmer than before; less in a stupor and more of the air of a man with a plan of action behind him.

“Can you watch Gen tonight?” he asked Shaw.

“You’re doing it tonight?” Shaw asked with disbelief.

Reese shrugged. “There’s no time like the present.”

“Fine, whatever,” said Shaw and gestured for Gen to get into the car. “But if you want my opinion –”

“I don’t,” said Reese, grinning as Shaw sulked her way into the car.

“Good luck,” said Root. Although she thought Zoe was probably going to need it more than he was. She handed him the car keys but he shook his head.

“Got to get to the jewellers before they close,” he explained. There was a hint of smile on his face and Root was so tempted to wipe it away. To tell him all the reasons why this was a bad idea. “Can you drop them off?”

“Sure,” said Root, fighting to contain her eye roll. She kept her mouth shut too and got into the car. Shaw was right. This really was a train wreck waiting to happen.

“Where’s he going?” Shaw asked from the passenger seat.

“To buy a ring, duh,” said Gen. She poked her head between the two front seats. “He’s got to do it properly.”

“Properly?” said Shaw sceptically. “Right.”

“Well I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand,” said Gen, scowling as Root shoved her back in her seat and told her to put her seatbelt on.

“I don’t _want_ to understand,” said Shaw. “All I know is, it’s a stupid idea.”

“Whatever,” Gen muttered. In her eyes, this could only be a good thing and part of Root was loath to let her figure out otherwise. She would know, soon enough, that not everything was as easy as she could make it out to be. In many ways, she already knew that and Root suspected she was clutching onto what little happiness in those around her that she could. A baby was permanent. Something that would stick around for a while, unlike everything else in her life.

“Can we get pizza from Petrini’s tonight?” Gen asked.

Root pulled out onto the main road, driving in the direction of Shaw’s place. If she were being honest, she was a little affronted that Reese hadn’t asked her to look after Gen tonight. He was probably just being reasonable. She had _just_ moved into her new place, was still in the process of unpacking… She still felt the sting of it anyway.

“On one condition,” said Shaw, twisting slightly in her seat and grimacing when she must have pulled at her stitches. “You don’t mention the stupid baby or Reese’s proposal for the rest of the night.”

Pursing her lips in consideration, Gen eventually said, “Add in some garlic bread fries and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Fine,” said Shaw.

“Garlic bread fries?” asked Root.

“Oh yeah,” said Gen. “They’re awesome. You have to try them.”

“They really are,” Shaw agreed. She was facing the front window, but Root thought she caught her glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “You should come,” Shaw added quietly.

Glancing at Shaw briefly before darting her eyes back to the road, Root wasn’t sure what to say. The offer was unexpected, to say the least, but she found herself saying yes before she could really think about all the reasons why it most definitely would not be a good idea.

*

Gen had been right. The garlic bread fries were awesome. The pizza wasn’t bad either and amongst the three of them, they managed to finish off two medium pizzas (Gen had wanted to go large, but Shaw hadn’t quite regained her usual appetite yet and managed to talk her out of it) and a large portion of garlic bread fries. Root was so full by the time Shaw cleared the boxes away that she could barely move.

Like Gen, her eyes grew droopy with sleep. But, unlike Gen, she didn’t have a bed she could go crash out on.

“She seems happy to be back here,” Root said sleepily, sitting with her chin in her hand as she leant heavily on the kitchen counter. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep right here, despite the hard stool beneath her. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She focused them on Shaw, watching as she rinsed their plates under the faucet.

“She doesn’t like staying with John and Zoe?” Shaw asked.

“I dunno…” said Root through a yawn. Would it be such a stretch for Shaw to let her sleep on the couch again? “She just… she hasn’t been happy for a while.”

Shaw didn’t respond to that. The next thing that came out of her mouth was an amused exhale of air. Root opened her eyes – she hadn’t even realised she had closed them – and found Shaw smirking down at her.

“Falling asleep on me?”

“No.” Root scowled and sat up straighter. The yawn escaped her before she could stop it.

“I’ll make you some coffee,” Shaw offered.

“I’m fine,” Root insisted, but Shaw turned the coffee machine on anyway. It rattled into life and Root watched, entranced, as Shaw filled the filter with coffee granules and poured through enough water for several cups. Soon the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room and just the scent of it was enough to perk Root up a bit. She stood up, stretching her limbs to get the blood flowing again.

It was hard to take her eyes off Shaw. She had changed into black sweats and a white tank top once they got back and the exposed skin was a little distracting. Root had been grateful for pizza and something to focus on, but it hadn’t stopped her eyes from wandering as she only half listened to Gen’s chatter.

And there were several times, she was positive, where Shaw was looking at her too.

“You still take it with too much sugar and not enough milk?” Shaw asked, struggling to reach up for the coffee mugs on top shelf. Root had never understood why she insisted on storing them so high. It was proving even more difficult than usual for Shaw to reach them, hindered by the wound on her side.

“Yes,” Root murmured. She was right behind Shaw now, reaching up behind her and grasping the mug that Shaw’s fingertips were barely brushing against. Shaw stiffened and Root pressed herself against her a little further. Shaw was warm and solid. The scent of flowery conditioned hair that was probably Zoe’s and not Shaw’s usual, cheap brand, filled her nose. Root pulled the mug a little towards the edge of the shelf, just enough for Shaw to reach and they clasped it together, fingers touching; igniting something within Root that hadn’t been there for a very long time.

“What are you doing?” Shaw said hoarsely. She didn’t make any move to push Root away. In fact, she seemed frozen in place, stunned by Root’s boldness that had been absent for so long.

“This is familiar,” said Root. Her lips were close to Shaw’s ear. The lose strands of hair from Shaw’s ponytail tickled against her skin. “You: wounded and reaching for something. Me: handcuffed.”

“You’re not handcuffed,” Shaw pointed out. Her voice seemed a little more under control, but the rest of her body betrayed her; leaning into Root.

“That can be arranged,” said Root. Her other arm was still hanging loosely at her side, hand clenched into a fist to resist grabbing Shaw by the hip. She didn’t want to push too far, and honestly couldn’t understand why she was pushing so much already. Or why Shaw was letting her.

“And as I recall,” Shaw said, turning her head slightly so she could look at Root. “You had been let out back then.”

“Semantics.” Root shrugged and let Shaw turn around and face her. Dropping her arm to the side, the mug lay forgotten on the shelf and now they just stood staring at each other in the stillness of Shaw’s kitchen.

“Root…”

“Yes, Sameen?”

“This is crazy,” Shaw said. Shaking her head, her eyes never left Root’s.

“Isn’t it always?” said Root. This feeling Shaw stirred up in her definitely was. This feeling she couldn’t control no matter how hard she tried. She could keep it buried, pretend it didn’t exist, but it always won in the end. It always found her.

Just like Shaw always found her.

It was crazy and scary and it felt like Root was plunging off a cliff when she inclined her head forward. Shaw didn’t move, just stared at her with wide, daring eyes that Root took to mean consent. Besides, if Shaw had wanted to put a stop to this, she would have long before now.

That single thought gave Root the courage she needed. She let her fear fall away, ignored the thumping of her heart, the exhaustion clouding her thoughts. She focused on only one thing and found Shaw kissing her back hungrily when she finally pressed their lips together.

Shaw kissed her like she had never kissed anyone before.

Her hands found Root’s face, pulling her closer, as her fingernails scraped across Root’s scalp.

Like their lips alone weren’t enough, Shaw needed to touch more of her and pressed her hips into Root’s when she gripped onto them tightly. As she guided Root gently backward until her back hit the edge of the counter, a moan slipped out of Root’s mouth, drowned by Shaw’s lips like she had never made the sound at all.

Shaw’s hands let go of her face, finding Root’s waist and lifting her upwards until she was sitting on the countertop, Shaw squeezed in between her thighs. And Root wrapped her arms tightly around Shaw’s neck, afraid to let her go in case she never came back. In case this was all just another dream and she was about to wake up at the kitchen counter, neck stiff and sore.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Root’s racing heart was a testament to that. The way Shaw felt beneath her fingertips; solid and soft at the same time and so _warm._

It was all so familiar and so very brand new. The heat, building up between them, was unmistakable, like lovers coming together for the first time.

Rough hands found her belt and Root froze, breaking the kiss as she tilted her head away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –” Shaw began, her breathing hard and heavy as she pulled away from Root, letting her go and trying to retreat like an animal that had just stumbled upon a predator with nowhere to go.

Root grabbed onto her hand, stilling her. “No. I want to. I really do. I just…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.”

“I can still feel him,” Root whispered, swallowing as she remembered the library. Unwanted hands on her, invading her. “And I don’t want him to… to _taint_ whatever this is.”

Shaw remained silent, eyes everywhere but on Root. Was she thinking about the library too? What would have happened if she had gotten there mere minutes later?

“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” she said eventually. “Right after Daizo, I should have… Maybe things would have been different.” She looked at Root. Said nothing else but her eyes screamed: _With you. Maybe things would have been different with you._

If Jason had died sooner, then Root wouldn’t have had to leave. That was what Shaw was thinking.

But she was wrong. Root would have left sooner or later. She had been afraid – still was – of her feelings for Shaw. Of what Shaw could feel for her.

Back then, Root hadn’t been brave enough to stay.

She wasn’t sure if she was now either.

“I don’t know what to do,” Shaw said, her voice sounding small. When Root glanced at her, she looked so _lost_.

“You could always do me,” Root joked, smirking with her tongue between her teeth.

Shaw groaned, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching. “That’s not what I meant,” she muttered, her breath warm as it blew across Root’s face.

“I know,” said Root, pulling back slightly and holding Shaw by the hips before she got any ideas about moving away. “But I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“Right,” said Shaw, shaking her head. “I just meant...”

“I know,” said Root when Shaw couldn’t seem to find the words. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Except you?” Shaw asked lightly.

“Right,” said Root, her smile faltering slightly. Faced with her own joke, she didn’t find it all that funny anymore. “I should go,” she said. _Before_ this led to something she wasn’t ready for.

“Okay,” said Shaw, but neither of them moved.

“Except it’s kind of hard with you looking at me like that,” said Root.

“Like what?” said Shaw, frowning now.

“Like you want nothing more than to fuck me senseless right here.”

Shaw groaned and closed her eyes. “I do _not_ look like that.”

“Yes you do,” said Root. “I’ve seen that look before.”

_Hungry_ was how she would describe it and felt her entire body tingling from it.

“Root…” Shaw warned; something between a groan and a sigh. “Get out of here.”

Root grinned and slipped off the counter, bringing their bodies even closer together. Her hand brushed against Shaw’s injured side and she winced. But it wasn’t pain that clouded her eyes and Root knew if she didn’t leave soon neither of them would be able to control themselves.

“I’m going,” she said and forced herself to move, retrieve her jacket and ignore the urge to kiss Shaw again.

Shaw’s eyes never left her as she slipped her coat on, but she remained where she was, as if afraid any closer proximity would lead to the one thing they both wanted but couldn’t have. Not yet.

_Soon, maybe_ , Root thought and grinned all the way home.


	23. Part 2: Chapter 23

_She’s in Bishop. Twenty-two again and itching to get out of this hell hole of a town for good. But there is still one thing left to do, after she burns everything in the house – she’d burn the house down with it, but people might notice and she doesn’t want to be delayed leaving any longer than she has been for the past five years – and it’s the one thing she wishes she could just forget about._

_But she does it anyway like the good, dutiful daughter that she is. She buries her mother – full blown catholic ceremony and all – and doesn’t allow herself to cry._

_No one comes. It’s just her and the priest. She didn’t invite anyone else, but it’s a small town. People would know. People would hear. They always do._

_They just don’t_ care.

_Perhaps, like her, they are just relieved that the crazy old lady from the edge of town is dead._

_Root certainly is._

_It’s cold in the cemetery. Root shivers and wishes the priest would just get on with it. But he runs through the normal procedure for these kinds of things. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and still Root refuses to cry._ Sam _refuses to cry._

_When it’s over, when it’s just her and her mother buried in the ground, Root doesn’t move. The priest left hours ago, left her alone with her grief and she can’t remember how long she’s been here._

_It’s dark now. Bishop is cold and Root’s supposed to be leaving for good._

_Everything she owns – everything she needs – is packed in her old Ford Cortina. The few things she needs to start her new life as Root. The life she has been preparing for since she was twelve._

_Her feet are heavy and reluctant as she walks through the graveyard, past worn away tombstones with their engravings so faint it’s impossible to make out the name of those long since dead. Souls who were born and died in Bishop, this town that sucks you dry and holds you down and never lets you out. Bishop is all Root has known. She has never left, never walked past the train tracks out into the unknown._

_That’s what is waiting for her now. The whole world. She can do anything and everything now that she is free._

_Anything and everything seems so big. So wonderful. So_ impossible.

_There is no purpose to it. But Root will find it._

_She has to._

_It feels like she has been walking down this narrow path forever. Grass worn away and weeds fighting to survive beneath trudging footsteps. She passes grave after grave until they all look the same. The names a blur she cannot read. Not in the dark._

_But the dark lightens. Sunlight pours through the sky and she wonders if she has been here all night, walking in circles, searching for something she cannot find._

_Light pools to her left, shining down on one of the graves like a spotlight on a stage. Root moves towards it, footsteps slow in this dark and cold place._

_Unlike the others, this grave is new, fresh, and she thinks she is back at her mother’s again._

_She should have brought flowers._

_Lilies were always her mother’s favourite._

_Brambles cover the tombstone and Root has to tug them away with trembling fingers. Irene Groves is not the name on the tombstone._

_It’s not hers either – she thinks that would have so much better, so much_ easier _– the name is familiar all the same. Two words she never wanted to see in this place. Yet here they lie – here_ she _lies and Root cannot breathe._

*

The shrill tone of Root’s cell phone snapped her out of her dream.

Heart thumping and breathing wild, she fumbled blindly for it, her eyes still bleary with sleep. The details of the dream were already fading but she still remembered a name in the dark and shuddered at the thought of it.

_It was just a dream_ , she reminded herself and mumbled “Hello” into the phone.

“Root?” said Shaw, her voice crisp and clear despite the early hour. “Did I wake you?”

“No… yes,” said Root, shaking her head awake. “It’s okay.”  She remembered her dream, sitting up suddenly in panic. The comforter slipped down to her lap and the cold air of her apartment left goose bumps trailing across her skin. “Is Gen okay?”

“She’s fine,” said Shaw and Root felt instantly better. The sound of Shaw’s voice, low and blunt and never complicated was always comforting. “I just dropped her off at school.”

“Okay good,” said Root. A smile graced her lips as the line went quiet and she wondered if Shaw had called without any real purpose. Just to hear her voice. She remembered last night, the feel of lips and hands and the slight regret that things hadn’t gone any further. “Did you need something?” Root asked eventually.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Shaw asked. She sounded a little breathless, but that could just be the phone.

“Nothing,” said Root, grinning now. “Why? Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe,” said Shaw. Root could practically hear the eye roll.

“Are you forgetting the last time we tried that?” Root asked. It had been a near total disaster, but Root hadn’t cared all that much. They had been together and despite their brief stint at trying normal and failing, Root had enjoyed herself.

“I promise it won’t be as lame this time,” Shaw assured.

“As I recall,” said Root, “our last date ended pretty well.”

There had been bad guys and gunfights, and burning, all-consuming kisses and –

“Well, I’m not promising the sports car,” said Shaw, and Root thought she must be smirking smugly by now. “But since when does location matter?”

“Oh, Sameen,” said Root sweetly, “it’s _all_ about the location.”

“Right,” said Shaw, sounding unconvinced. “So… I’ll pick you up?”

Root pursed her lips together and thought about all the reasons why this wasn’t a good idea. Why she wasn’t ready for this yet. Why _they_ weren’t ready for this yet.

And decided she didn’t care about a single damn one of them.

“Okay,” she said. Her heart thrummed with excitement.

*

“Sorry I’m late,” said Root, slipping into the seat opposite Zoe. Their breakfast date had turned into brunch but Zoe didn’t seem to mind as she sipped at her orange juice and gestured for Root to help herself to the pot of tea in the middle of the table.

“It’s okay,” said Zoe, putting her glass down. “Any excuse to get out of the house.”

Root poured herself a cup of tea, adding a dash of milk as she raised her eyebrow at Zoe. She hadn’t been expecting the text from the other woman when she came out of the shower that morning, but she could easily guess as to why she was so suddenly desperate to meet for breakfast.

“John proposed last night,” Zoe explained.

“Oh?” said Root, trying to throw some surprise into her voice that, she suspected, Zoe wasn’t going to buy for a second. “And what did you say?”

Zoe narrowed her eyes, spared from answering when the waiter came over and took their order. Still feeling the effects of morning sickness, Zoe ordered some fruit and a slice of toast that she looked doubtful about keeping down. After browsing the menu for several minutes, the waiter hovering over her shoulder patiently, Root eventually asked if the chef could make her pancakes. She had a sudden craving and they weren’t, disappointingly, on the menu.

“What?” said Root, when Zoe stared at her, amused, as the waiter disappeared to go check if that would be okay.

Zoe continued to smirk. “Nothing,” she said and sipped at her orange juice.

“So,” said Root, deciding to change the subject. “John proposed?”

“Right,” said Zoe and put her glass down. She rubbed at her temples with the tips of her fingers and it wasn’t until then that Root noticed how tired she looked.

“And you said…” Root prompted when Zoe remained silent.

“I said I’d think about it.” Zoe reached into her purse and pulled out a small, blue ring box and placed it on the table in front of Root. Raising her eyebrow, Root took a look inside.

“Wow,” said Root. The diamond was huge, embedded in a platinum ring with smaller blue sapphires surrounding it. The ring was so _Zoe_ and Root was impressed that Reese had managed to pick it out himself.

“It’s excessive,” said Zoe, annoyed. “Like he’s compensating or something.”

“Maybe you’re overthinking it,” said Root, still staring at the ring. “This must have cost a fortune. I never knew being a lackey paid so well. You could buy a lot of computers with this. Ooh, a decent leather jacket…”

Zoe scowled and snatched the ring out of her hand. “I’m not selling it.”

“I was only saying,” said Root, suddenly missing her abundant funds. Now she was practically living hand to mouth while she sorted herself out and got used to paying bills and buying essentials for her new place. It wasn’t like she was about to starve, but she did miss having a choice of leather jackets and decent footwear.

“I can’t believe he thought proposing was a good idea,” said Zoe, shaking her head.

Root picked up her teacup and took a sip. “Well we did try to talk him out of it,” she said without thinking. She glanced up from behind her cup and found Zoe frowning at her. “Uh… I mean –”

“You knew?” said Zoe, rubbing at her head again.

Root shrugged. “He seemed pretty determined. He wasn’t about to listen to _me_.”

“Right,” said Zoe, shaking her head. She fingered the ring, but Root noticed how she kept it strictly away from her left hand. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Neither could Root. Neither could anyone.

Their waiter returned with Zoe’s fruit and, to Root’s delight, a plate of fluffy pancakes. Root smiled her thanks and tucked in. They were good and she hummed her approval between bites.

“What are you going to do?” Root asked.

Zoe picked at her fruit without eating it. “I have no idea.”

“Well,” said Root, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. “Do you want to marry him?”

The question was a difficult one to leave Root’s mouth and it seemed like it was even more difficult for Zoe to answer.

“I don’t know,” said Zoe eventually.

Root couldn’t understand her uncertainty. It was either a yes or a no and this doubt Zoe was displaying was telling her everything. But Root kept her mouth shut, kept her opinions to herself – and well, wasn’t she slightly biased in her dislike of John Reese and marriage and fluffy happy endings in general? – and finished her pancakes. She thought they might be the best she had ever tasted and she made a mental note to tell Shaw to try them one day.

“Okay, what is with you?” said Zoe suddenly, breaking into Root’s thoughts.

Root glanced up and found Zoe staring at her with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “What?”

“You haven’t stopped smiling since you got here,” said Zoe. Ducking her head, Root was sure she could feel a blush creeping across her cheeks. “So spill.”

Leaning back in her chair, Zoe stared at her expectantly.

“There’s nothing to tell,” said Root. Realising she was _still_ smiling, she forced her features into a neutral expression.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a horrible liar?” said Zoe.

Biting her lip, Root shook her head. This was crazy. This giddiness that made her feel like she could float on water, like she could do anything… it was nuts.

“Something…” Root began, “ _might_ have happened…with Shaw.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Did you sleep with her?”

“No,” said Root quickly. “We just… kissed. And it was one hell of a kiss,” she added. Her heart sped up at the memory. She could still feel the ghost of Shaw’s touch like a gaping wound.

“Does this mean you guys are back together?”

“I…” Root said. She played with her fork idly for something to do, watching the way the light flickered against its shiny surface. What _did_ it mean? Last night they talked more than they had in forever, but it still felt like nothing was said. “It’s complicated… We – it always is.”

“Yeah,” Zoe breathed, glancing away and Root knew she was thinking about Reese again, about the person growing inside of her.

“We’re going out tomorrow night,” said Root. She didn’t dare say the word “date”.

“Oh?” said Zoe, smiling now. “Good for you.”

“Is it?” said Root.

Zoe nodded. “I haven’t seen you smile like this in… well, _ever._ ”

That was probably true, Root thought. She hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.

*

Through a sleep filled haze, it took three attempts before Root realised someone was calling her. It was still dark out and Root fumbled blindly for her cell phone, peering at the number on the front. It wasn’t one she recognised and she groaned at the timestamp - one-thirty am - and decided whoever it was would suffer greatly for this.

“What?” Root grumbled into the phone. Lying her head back down on the bed, she closed her eyes and hoped she was still fast asleep, dreaming, because she really didn’t want to be awake right now.

“Rise and shine, Bounty Bar.”

“Huh?” Root mumbled. “Fusco?”

“Yeah, did I wake you?”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning,” Root complained, “of course you woke me… Bounty Bar?”

“Yeah,” said Fusco. “As in coconut… _nut_ , ‘cause you’re… well…”

He gulped and Root grinned at how she could still terrify a grown man even over the phone.

“Nuts?” Root suggested. Lionel coughed and wisely kept his mouth shut. “What do you want, Lionel?”

Fusco cleared his throat, getting down to business. “Your favourite nerd minion just got himself arrested.”

Root’s eyes snapped open. “Daniel?” she said and sat up in bed, tiredness forgotten.

“Yeah,” said Fusco apologetically. “He’s pretty wasted too. Guy must have drank half a brewery.”

That didn’t sound like Daniel. But, then again, Root hadn’t seen him for weeks. Not since…

“Lionel,” she said, “what was he arrested for?”

“Trespassing, harassment,” said Lionel. “Taking a swing at a cop was just a bonus.”

Root pinched the bridge of her nose. “Harassing who?”

“A guy named Timothy Sloan,” said Fusco. “He’s -”

“Jason’s foster brother,” Root finished.

“Yeah,” said Fusco. “Look,” he added, lowering his voice, “I’d have called Shaw - they’re pretty tight - but when I suggested it, he flipped out.”

“Flipped out?” said Root, frowning. “Why?”

“I have no idea,” said Fusco. “Look, I’ve managed to talk Sloan out of pressing charges, but he’s still going to be charged for assaulting a cop.”

Root sighed. “Can’t you make it go away?”

“Yeah, because I like to use up all my favours on you people,” Fusco grumbled.

“Lionel…”

Fusco exhaled loudly, sounding annoyed. “I’ll see what I can do, but you’re probably gonna have to bail him out for the night.”

“Fine,” said Root, already halfway out of bed and pulling on some clothes. She hung-up, letting the phone fall to the bed and staring at it for a moment. The screen went blank, plunging her into darkness and Root sighed, reaching through the dark to turn on the bedside lamp. She thought about calling Shaw, asking what had happened between her and Daniel these past few weeks that he was so reluctant to call her in his time of need. Was it just because of what happened with Jason? Or was there more to it than that?

Root had her phone in her hand, fingers ready to dial before she decided it could wait until morning. Shaw may as well sleep for the rest of the night if Root wasn’t going to.

The precinct was bustling with activity when Root arrived. Crime didn’t sleep and apparently that meant Detective Lionel Fusco and his colleagues didn’t get to either. Sitting at his desk with his head propped up on his elbow as he flicked through a case file, Fusco looked wide awake.

“Working overtime, Lionel?” Root sing-songed as she approached his desk.

“Hm?” Fusco looked up, saw her and quickly closed the file on his desk. “Oh… yeah, well, Christmas is coming up. I need the money.”

“We’re only halfway through November,” Root pointed out.

“When you got a kid,” said Fusco, climbing wearily out of his seat, “you start thinking about these things early.”

“Oh,” said Root. Christmas wasn’t something she ever thought about. She hadn’t ever needed to, not for years. But now, with Gen, she wondered if she should be preparing things. She didn’t know when the last time was that Gen would have had a proper Christmas, if she even liked that sort of thing. But didn’t most kids?

She hadn’t.

Sam Groves had hated Christmas.

While all the kids in her class had been bursting with excitement, all Sam could do was scowl and mutter under her breath about stupid holidays. Christmas for most people meant lots of presents and food, surrounded by family. For Sam, Christmas meant stuck at home for two weeks, their usual boxed macaroni for dinner and no presents in sight. Her mother usually forgot what day of the week it was, let alone the time of year.

But there was one year though, that she remembered...

That was the year when Sam was seven, when her mother caught her building a Christmas tree out of cardboard boxes and old tin cans. Her mother had been furious about the green paint, which with Sam’s - like most seven year old’s - poor coordination, had ended up _everywhere._

In her rage, Sam’s mom had kicked the Christmas tree until it collapsed into pieces, resembling the pile of trash that it was. And through her tears, Sam had been made to spend Christmas morning cleaning up her mess.

Later that afternoon, tired and fingers sore and bleeding from scrubbing green paint out of the carpet, when Sam had finally stopped crying, her mother called to her from the living room. Sam had been expecting more anger, more yelling. Instead she found an old shrub sitting in a potted plant in the far corner.

“I couldn’t find a tree,” her mom said. She was visibly upset by this, Sam could see, and quickly took her mother by the hand squeezing tight as she looked at the first Christmas tree they had ever had.

“It’s perfect,” Sam whispered, smiling up at her mother, relieved that she seemed calm for now. There had been no presents that day, and none in the years that followed, but Root always remembered that Christmas afternoon. How _happy_ she had been, making silly decorations with her mother for their Christmas shrub and eating macaroni straight from the pot.

They never had a Christmas like it again.

“He’s this way,” said Fusco, cutting into Root’s thoughts. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” said Root, shaking her head and following him towards the holding cells. “Miles away.”

“The officer your boy took a swing at,” said Fusco, flashing his ID at the desk sergeant, “is a bit of a hard ass. Refused to drop the charges.”

“What does that mean?” Root asked. The desk sergeant handed Fusco a manila folder. He opened it, revealing Daniel’s mugshot and fingerprints and he flicked through the rest of it for a moment before answering.

“It’s his first offence,” Fusco explained. “Most likely he’ll just get a fine. _If_ he cleans himself up. Cuts out the drinking. Maybe shaves off the five day’s worth of beard before seeing a judge.”

Root sighed. “Did he even hit the guy?”

Fusco smirked. “Are you kidding? He’s too drunk to even remember his own name, let alone punch straight. But he swung for a cop. That was stupid,” he added, shaking his head. “You got bail money?”

Root nodded, biting her lip and hoping it wouldn’t be too excessive. She wasn’t exactly free flowing with cash at the moment. Fusco left her to deal with that while he went to retrieve Daniel from holding. The desk sergeant was stern and clipped throughout the whole thing and Root was glad when it was finally over with, handing over all of her cash bar ten dollars that wasn’t going to last her very long. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Harold why she needed an advance on her next pay check.

Fusco hadn’t been kidding; Daniel really was a mess. Eyes bloodshot and bleary, scruffy beard and hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. Root had never seen him like this. Daniel had always been so neat and tidy, prided his appearance. But right now, he could barely even stand by himself; Fusco’s arm, tight around his waist, was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“You got a car?” Fusco asked.

Root nodded absently, thinking it might have just been best to leave him in holding to sleep it off. It was too late for that now and she had no choice but to lead Fusco out to her car. He struggled with Daniel for a moment and had to get one of the officers to help him out.

“You gonna be able to get him back outta there?” Fusco said sceptically.

Root shrugged, halfway into the driver’s seat. “If not, he can always sleep in the car. And if he throws up… well that’s Harold’s problem. I’m not cleaning it up.”

Fusco chuckled, waving her off as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Gone were the days where she could get the Machine to double check where Daniel lived. So now Root did the next best thing: dumped an uncooperative Daniel Casey on her brand new couch.

“I swear,” Root muttered, tugging Daniel’s shoes off, “if you throw up in here…”

He muttered something incoherent under his breath, but his eyes peered at her comprehendingly.

“Oh, Daniel,” Root sighed. “What happened to you?”

She wasn’t expecting an answer, wasn’t expecting Daniel to start laughing hysterically in her living room at three o’clock in the morning. Yet here he was.

Root frowned, climbing to her feet in search of a blanket and pillow and realised she didn’t actually have any spares. Something else to add to her list of things to get for a normal (ish) life. She managed to find a blanket that she must have stolen from the library and settled for a pillow from her own bed hoping, once again, that Daniel would hold his stomach. She tossed them in his general direction as she passed on her way to the kitchen and retrieved a glass of lukewarm tap water and some aspirin to stave off the hangover he would, no doubt, have by the time the sun rose.

Daniel took the glass in trembling hands and didn’t object when Root advised him to drink the whole thing. Sitting down on the coffee table opposite him, Root watched as he swallowed down the pills, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were back?” Root asked.

Daniel shrugged. “Because no one cared,” he slurred.

“I care,” said Root, surprised at how angry she sounded. “You guys just left and didn’t tell anyone where you were going. What you were doing. What _were_ you doing?” Root asked, tired of dancing around the issue now. Daniel was a mess and Root wanted to know why, wanted to know why Shaw had come back after weeks of silence with a stab wound in her side.

“I don’t know,” said Daniel, swallowing down the last of his water and holding the glass out blindly. Root snatched it from him and placed in on the table beside her thigh.

“How can you not know?”

“She never told me,” said Daniel. He leant back on the couch, eyes closed and his voice nothing more than a mutter.

“Daniel,” said Root nudging his shoulder. “What happened?”

His eyes snapped open and he stared at Root as if he weren’t quite sure how he had got there.

“It was that stupid letter,” he mumbled and closed his eyes once again.

“Letter?” Root repeated, but Daniel had lost consciousness. She didn’t need him to confirm it though. She knew, she must have always known, what letter he was talking about.

Root felt ice in her heart, felt it stiffen and gasp and felt angrier than she had ever been.

*

_//Searching Archive..._

_//Data found..._

_//System date unknown... rough estimate... 5 weeks, 4 days ago…_

_//Location…. Moscow, Russia..._

_//Data retrieved…_

“Took you long enough.” Shaw scowled as Daniel climbed into the passenger seat of her rental car. It was raining outside; heavy drops thundering off the roof of the SUV and obscuring her vision through the window. She had the engine idling for over an hour now, for the heat and the wipers.

She felt Daniel’s glare more than saw it and decided to ignore the whiff of vodka that followed him into the car.

“Did you get those pictures I sent you?” Shaw asked. She had the camera in her hand now, but doubted she would get any decent shots in this weather.

“Yes,” Daniel sighed. He pulled a brown paper bag out from inside his jacket and handed it to her. Lunch was a sodden sandwich with an obscure meat that Shaw didn’t like the look of and decided she would leave for now. She’d rather starve than put her taste buds through soggy bread. “You only sent them five times,” he added sarcastically.

“Twice,” Shaw corrected. Because after several hours of hearing nothing from him, she had worried he hadn’t got them. “And?” said Shaw, when Daniel remained silent. “Did you ID them?”

“You know,” he said, clenching his jaw, “we’ve been watching these guys for over a month and you still haven’t told me why.”

“That’s because you don’t need to know,” said Shaw tightly. They’d had this conversation before, more times than Shaw would care to count.

“It have something to do with that letter you keep reading?” said Daniel. “The one in Russian?”

Shaw clenched her fists. “I told you, you don’t need to know.”

Daniel shook his head, exhaling angrily. “I can’t do my job properly if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“No,” said Shaw, “you can’t do your job properly because you spend every hour off in a goddamn bar drinking your brains out.”

She didn’t hear the words until they had already left her mouth, until it was too late to take them back, to amend them into something else. Not that she wanted to. They had been dancing around it for weeks and she refused to pretend to ignore it for any longer.

Daniel flinched, but he didn’t deny her accusations. He couldn’t, not with the alcohol still pungent and strong, seeped into his clothes, his skin. The bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath and all the other little tell-tale signs of a permanent hangover. The signs had been there for weeks and Daniel had stopped caring about hiding it long ago.

“Did you ID them or not?” Shaw finally asked, her voice calmer now.

Teeth unclenching, Daniel visibly relaxed, nodding his head slightly. He reached around to the back seat, grabbing the tablet Shaw had dumped there this morning and pulled up the information Shaw wanted.

“This is everything I could find,” he explained, handing the tablet over. Shaw scrolled through the list of names, birthdates and arrest records and everything else Daniel had managed to find.

“Found who you’re looking for yet?” asked Daniel, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Or are you planning on taking on the entire Russian mafia by yourself?”

“Nope,” said Shaw, shooting him a smug look. “I’ll still have you.”

“Right,” said Daniel doubtfully. “Are we done?”

“Yeah,” said Shaw, gripping onto the tablet a little more tightly than necessary. “We’re done.”

“Good,” said Daniel, making to get out of the car. He didn’t seem all that bothered about the torrential rain, would rather face that than spend any more time in a confined space with her.

“I might need you later though,” Shaw said, before he could leave. He paused, passenger door wide open and the wind blowing in some of the rain. Droplets sprayed across Shaw and she shivered.

“For what?” said Daniel.

Shaw stared down at the picture on the tablet screen. It was taken from a distance, from this very car in fact, at night and depicted a man in his forties. Greying dark hair and a hard jaw covered in stubble. Broad shoulders not hidden beneath the expensive suit he was wearing. He didn’t have a criminal record, just numerous ties to the Solntsevskaya Bratva and other groups involved in organised crime. But the lack of a record meant nothing. The man in charge wasn’t about to let himself get caught. He hid in the shadows. Was careful. Waited. Oversaw his operation from a distance. In all her weeks watching these guys, Shaw had only seen this particular man once.

This was him.

It had to be.

Now she just needed to figure out where he would be tonight. Where the shipment of drugs she’d been tracking for days was coming in.

But that was the easier part.

It was what she had to do after that would be difficult.

*

“Daniel,” said Shaw, connecting her earpiece to him. It took her a moment to realise she had reached his voicemail and she gritted her teeth in annoyance. She decided to leave a message anyway. “It’s time to make a move. Meet me at the warehouse tonight. Midnight. Try not to be seen.”

She hung up, returning her attention to the other person occupying the abandoned shop basement she was currently holed up in. He was zip tied to an old pipe by both wrists above his head. Blood dripped from his broken nose, dripping down his bare chest and onto the floor. His other wounds had stopped bleeding. He’d live. It would hurt for a while, but he’d survive.

He was nothing more than a Bratva lackey, an expendable drug runner whose life wouldn’t be worth living if his bosses up the food chain found out what he had just told Shaw. It was almost tempting just to kill him and be done with it.

Almost.

But he wasn’t the person she was planning on killing tonight.

“Now,” said Shaw, taking a step towards him. She smiled inwardly when he flinched as she approached. “ _Are you sure you told me everything_?” she asked in Russian. She wasn’t exactly fluent, but she knew enough to get buy.

“ _Y-yes_ ,” he stammered. “ _Please let me go._ ”

He said more, but it was all so fast, the Russian became intelligible to Shaw. She understood enough though. He had told her everything she needed to know about what was happening in that warehouse tonight. How the Pakhan himself was going to be there. It was the moment Shaw had been waiting over four long weeks for. And now that it was here, she felt the old hum of adrenaline, the anticipation, the smell of death in the wind.

She hadn’t felt it in a long time. Not since the ISA, when killing terrorists had been her life.

Now she was killing another sort of terrorist. A man whose name sprung fear in all those that knew it. It had taken Shaw a long time to find out what that was.

But now she knew.

And she was going to make sure he never hurt anyone else again.

“ _I’m going to leave you here,”_ said Shaw, kneeling down in front of her prisoner.

“ _No,”_ the Russian panicked.

_“Your wounds are superficial,”_ Shaw explained. “ _Your friends will find you eventually. Probably tomorrow when you don’t show up with the takings you owe them. They’ll trace your cell phone and find you here.”_

_“They’ll kill me.”_

_“Maybe_ ,” said Shaw, “ _but more likely they’ll have their hands full with other problems.”_

Problems like her.

Shaw climbed to her feet, ignoring the Russian’s pleas. He was of no concern to her now.

*

It was dark, three minutes until midnight and still no sign of Daniel Casey. Shaw cursed under her breath. Through her night vision goggles she could see the swarm of Bratva men entering the warehouse. She was running out of time. If she didn’t make a move soon, she might lose sight of her target. And who knew when he would surface again.

Shaw checked her gear one last time. She had enough ammo on her to take out a small army and, when she thought about it, that was what she would be up against. An army of angry Russians. But Shaw had faced worse. And beaten them.

Gravel crunched behind her and Shaw whipped around, gun drawn and didn’t lower it even as she recognised Daniel through the dark.

“You’re late again,” she said.

Daniel shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He was, but given his slouched stature, like he was struggling to keep upright, his bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, Shaw thought he may as well not be. She wondered how much he’d had to drink today, if enough time had passed for him to have sobered up.

There wouldn’t have been, she knew. Because there wasn’t a moment in the day when Daniel wasn’t thinking about his next drink.

It was better than thinking about Jason.

“I need you to be my eyes,” said Shaw. She crouched down to the black duffel bag at her feet, unzipping it a pulling out a laptop for Daniel, glad she’d had the instinct to bring an extra one just in case. Daniel was emptied handed; he’d brought himself, just not any of his equipment. “Hack into the satellite feeds. Infrared.”

“You’re going in alone?” said Daniel. He took the laptop, gripping it tightly under his arm as he stared at her.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Shaw, securing the bag over her shoulder. It was filled with spare ammo, weapons… some explosives. Everything she would need. “Check your comms.”

“Shaw…”

“Check them,” Shaw said firmly. Daniel sighed and pulled out an earpiece from his pocket. He slipped it into his ear and checked the line was clear. “Good,” said Shaw, hearing the feedback from her own earpiece. “There’s blueprints of the warehouse on the laptop. Our guy is likely to be in the northwest corner. I just need you to find me the clearest path to him.”

“Then what?” Daniel asked. “Who is this guy?”

“Daniel,” Shaw warned. “Just do your job.”

“Fine,” he sighed. He looked pale and exhausted, but there was a familiar heavy set to his jaw that Shaw had seen countless times before on missions. She could count on him.

There really was no other choice.

Shaw left him alone in the dark, heading towards the warehouse and crouching low. The Russians had it guarded at all entrances, bar one window on the east side. Fifteen feet up and not big enough for a grown man to fit through.

There were two good things about being Shaw’s size and this was one of them.

The way to the window was clear and Shaw double-checked with Daniel to make sure there really was no one else in the vicinity.

“No, you’re clear,” he said, voice coming through the line hoarse, like he was a million miles away. Like he wanted to _be_ a million miles away.

Shaw nodded and stepped forward, moving quickly until she was beneath the window. From a distance the glass had looked grimy with dirt. It was probably a good thing she didn’t need to see through it.

“What about in the building?” Shaw asked, unzipping her duffel bag.

“There’s a group of red spots all in the northwest corner like you said. No one near you. They shouldn’t hear you come in.”

“ _Shouldn’t_?” said Shaw.

“They won’t,” Daniel assured her. “The window’s for an office. Unused probably if their using the place to move drugs and not for anything legit. You’re good.”

“Okay,” said Shaw and pulled a heavy rock out of her bag. She took a few steps back from the warehouse, took careful aim and threw as hard as she could. The rock hit its target, smashing through the window and breaking most of the glass. A few jagged edges remained. “Anything?”

Daniel was silent for a moment. “No,” he said. “No one’s moved.”

“Okay, I’m going in,” said Shaw. She swung the duffel bag back over her shoulder and pulled a grappling hook out from it. Swinging it through the air for a few moments until it had gained enough moment, Shaw aimed for the window. The hook shot through it and when Shaw pulled it back, tugging on it hard, it remained secure in place. Now all she had to do was climb.

Holding all her weight, Shaw’s hands burned as she gripped the rope and she wished she had remembered to bring gloves. It was the only thing she _didn’t_ have. But it was only a few more feet before she was eye level with the window and she could see inside to the darkened, disused office. An old desk sat in the middle of the room, covered in dust. The place hadn’t been touched in years, not until her rock had went through the window.

Using the duffel bag to clear the last of the glass away, Shaw pushed it through the window. It landed on the floor with a thud. Shaw waited a beat. It was still quiet, nothing but the distant rumbling of Russian voices.

Shaw pulled herself through the window, landing on her feet lightly and unsecuring the rope from her belt before tucking the grappling hook back into the duffel bag.

“I’m in,” said Shaw. “Tell me where to go.”

“Uh…” said Daniel. “Okay, there’s only one way out of the office. A flight of stairs that leads down to the main storage room. There’s a wall separating it, so you should be clear.”

“Any Russians down there?”

“Two,” said Daniel. “It looks like they might be on patrol.”

“What about the nearest exit to that northwest corner?” asked Shaw, carefully creeping towards the door. Her hand gripped the handle and she opened it slowly, attentive of the old hinges squeaking and alerting her presence.

“The nearest one is back through the main storage room,” said Daniel.

Shaw knew all this already, had memorised the blueprints days ago. But hearing it from Daniel gave her a few moments to re-evaluate her plan. She needed a distraction. Something that would get the Bratva scattering and leave her target vulnerable.

It didn’t look like they were concerned about this room. Which meant they were unlikely to come across Shaw and what she planned to do next.

Closing the door again, Shaw knelt down and rummaged around in her bag.

“Shaw,” said Daniel and she could hear the hint of worry in his voice. It was distracting and Shaw tuned him out as best she could, pulling a strip of C4 out of the bag. “I’m counting thirty, maybe forty, guys in there.”

“That’s the Russian mafia for you,” said Shaw, turning the timer on the C4 and setting it to ten minutes. Plenty of time for her to get into position. “They like to do things big.”

“I know you like to think of yourself as some sort of one woman army,” said Daniel, “but not even you can take on this many guys on your own.”

“I don’t need to,” said Shaw, securing the C4 under the desk out of sight. “I just need to distract them long enough to get to one of them.”

“And then what?” said Daniel.

Shaw remained silent. There wasn’t answer she could give that he would like.

“Shaw,” said Daniel heavily. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you think?” Shaw snapped.

She gritted her teeth. Pulled her gun out, her best Nano and checked that it was loaded.

“Shaw, you can’t kill this guy,” said Daniel. “No matter what he’s done, that doesn’t mean you can kill him.”

“We’re not talking about you and Jason, Daniel,” Shaw said harshly. There was silence for a moment, before Daniel spoke again.

“That’s not what I meant,” Daniel said. “Shaw, you can’t do this. You -”

Shaw cut her comm line. She didn’t want to hear this. She needed to focus and Daniel’s doubts in her ear weren’t helping. Shaw checked her watch. She’d already wasted forty-five seconds of her ten minutes. It was time to get moving.

But she’d barely reached the door when her phone buzzed with a text. Pulling it out of her pocket, Shaw frowned down at it.

_Stop._

“Not you too,” Shaw muttered. “You know why I’m doing this.”

The phone buzzed again, but it was only a repeat of the same message. Shaw turned her phone off and slipped it back into her pocket. Gun held out levelly in front of her, Shaw made her way down the stairs. They were old and creaky and Shaw slowed her step, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

Daniel had said two guys in the main storage room. When Shaw reached the bottom of the stairs, edging along the wall and peering around the corner, she spotted one of them, his back to her. He was carrying a sub-machine gun loosely in one hand, but he had the slumped shoulders of a man bored out of his mind. It would be easy to take him out. Shaw just had to make sure his buddy wasn’t around to see it.

Keeping in mind her short time frame, Shaw listened carefully. She couldn’t hear much beyond the faint noise of chatter from the other room and she dared to take a step out from behind her cover. Apart from the Russian with his back to her, the room was empty. Shaw quickly slipped her pistol in her waistband and crept closer. The lackey remained slack, even as Shaw brought her arms up and got him into a choke hold from behind.

Shaw squeezed tight, pulling him behind the wall for cover in case anyone came in. The guy didn’t put up much of a fight and after a few moments, his body went still and Shaw dropped his unconscious body to the ground. She kicked the sub-machine, lying uselessly at his feet, out of reach and pulled her own gun out again, attaching a silencer. Without Daniel giving her directions, she was going to run into a lot more guys with a lot of guns. And Shaw was always the shoot first, ask questions later type of gal.

Seven minutes, forty-three seconds. She needed to keep moving. Or her plan would be blowing up in her face. Quite literally.

Closing her eyes briefly, Shaw pictured the warehouse’s blueprints in her mind. She knew exactly where she needed to go, how she would get there. It was what was in-between that she couldn’t predict.

But Shaw had faced worse odds, time and time again, and it was easy for her to focus her mind on the task at hand. To forget everything else. She had a single purpose here. And with that in mind, Shaw made her way through the warehouse, shooting kneecaps and upper arms, knocking Russians out from behind. She moved like a ghost, getting as close to her target as possible without being seen and crouching into position behind a crate a few feet away from the door, she was sure, that led to where the Bratva’s latest shipment had just came in.

_Thirty seconds._

Shaw reloaded her gun.

_Twenty seconds._

The voices in the other room grew louder. Rapid, angry Russian. Something about the shipment being incorrect. Shaw couldn’t make most of it out, her Russian was okay, but not _that_ good.

It didn’t matter anyway. Whatever the issue, it wasn’t relevant to her task.

Shaw took the bag from her shoulders and abandoned it behind the crate. The contents were in case of emergency. She had everything she needed.

_Ten seconds…_

Hugging the shadows, Shaw made sure she was out of sight as she counted down the time on her watch, accurate to the millisecond.

From here, behind her crate at the opposite end of the warehouse, the explosion was loud.

The building rocked from it and the voices in the other room suddenly increased in volume. Angry shouting and an instruction to go investigate.

Shaw waited until they had past, stilling her breathing until she was sure they were gone. She had tried to count the number of footsteps but couldn’t be sure. Nor could she be sure of how many were left in the room with the Pakhan.

She would just have to risk it.

Her aim was excellent after all. She just needed one more thing from her duffel bag…

Retrieving it quickly, Shaw pulled the pin out of the flash grenade and rolled it through the now open door. She turned her head and stuck her fingers in her ears, sensing the flash and the bang rather than the full feel of it, and was pulling her gun back out before the Russians had even realised what was happening.

Groaning and flailing was what she met when she ventured into the room. Another storage space, slightly smaller than the one she had ventured through earlier, and looking even more so with the shipment of crates, no doubt filled with class A drugs.

Quickly counting the number of hostiles, Shaw sought out the one she was looking for. There were five men in total in this room. Three were scrambling blindly for a weapon and two were ducked behind a crate. Shaw quickly took out the three still on their feet, blowing out kneecaps. Their yelps of pain were the only indication of her presence.

“Aleksi Kozlov?” Shaw called. She aimed her gun above the crate, daring the two men to come out from hiding. “I know you’re there. _Come out_ ,” she ordered in Russian.

She hadn’t really expected that to work, had been anticipating having to drag him out of hiding. But the man she had only ever been able to capture one photograph of, the man who was _so_ good at hiding and maintaining his authority from a distance, stood up with a determined look on his face and his arms already in the air.

“ _Who the hell are you?_ ” he spat.

Shaw smirked. “The person whose gonna put a bullet in your brain.”

Not understanding English, Kozlov stared at her uncomprehendingly. But he didn’t need to understand the words to know why she was there. The gun aimed at his head was enough for him to slip a hand inside his jacket.

Shaw was faster.

Finger squeezing the trigger, the bullet tore out of Shaw’s gun, hitting her target. There was only a split second where Kozlov could understand what had happened. After that, he dropped down, dead, to the ground.

Now that it was over, the thing she had been planning for weeks, Shaw was still and quiet. Indifferent. He was just another terrorist. Another mess to clean up.

“Shaw?”

Whipping around, Shaw had her gun trained on Daniel before he could blink. She had no intention of shooting him, but he still held his hands up slightly in defence.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Shaw hissed.

“I heard an explosion… did you…”

“He’s dead,” said Shaw, finally lowering her gun.

Daniel shook his head. The only way she could describe the look in his face was… _horrified_.

“Why?” he asked. “The Machine-”

“This had nothing to do with-”

“Shaw,” Daniel yelled, but he was already too late.

Shaw felt the knife before she felt the man behind her. Searing as it pierced her flesh. It wasn’t like any pain she had ever felt. Somehow worse than all the bullets she had took over the years. Worse than the feel of her first punch, the first time she got beat up. Worse than the desert, so cold, no warmth but the hands on her cheeks.

Worse than the Taser at her side and Root walking out of her life.

She couldn’t remember dropping her gun. Nor did she hear it clatter to the floor. She was barely aware of Daniel frantically reaching for it, pointing it at the man with an arm around her throat and a knife in her side.

“You shouldn’t have come here, little girl,” he muttered in her ear. Heavy Russian accent. The lackey behind the crate she had forgotten about.

She cursed her carelessness almost as much as she cursed the pain at her side - except it wasn’t just her side, it had already thundered its way through her torso, like a raging fire, determined to burn everything to ashes.

The gun in Daniel’s hand shook violently and she couldn’t decide if his reluctance to shoot was because of that or because she was in front of his target, a human shield, bleeding out quicker than she would have liked. Than the most resilient of bodies could cope with.

“Shoot him,” Shaw hissed, not liking how weak her voice sounded. But she felt weak too. Wanted nothing more than to close her eyes, fall asleep and never wake up.

She was about to lose consciousness. Could feel the edges of her eyes clouding, her body giving up. Her mind screamed at her like a drill sergeant to fight back to get them out of there, but she couldn’t find the strength to move her limbs.

Something wailed in the distance.

_Sirens_.

Lots of them.

The _politsiya_.

Maybe Daniel called them. Or more likely the Machine. Shaw didn’t know if it was to help her or hinder her.

The man holding onto her stiffened, and Shaw felt that searing heat again as the knife was removed from her side.

“This isn’t over,” he hissed before shoving Shaw in Daniel’s direction. Her feet stumbled like she had no control over them and Daniel, abandoning the gun, managed to catch her before she fell.

Shaw caught a glimpse of the man who stabbed her as he made his escape. Cropped dirty blonde hair and a thin red scar on his left cheek. She recognised him from her countless hours of surveillance. The Pakhan’s right hand man.

“We have to go,” Daniel said hurriedly in her ear. “Oh God, Shaw… there’s so much blood.”

His grip on her tightened and Shaw gritted her teeth through blood boiling pain. She refused to cry out. Sameen Shaw _never_ cried in pain, but it felt like someone had pulled her insights out and she suddenly decided she didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Shaw,” said Daniel. “Dammit, I need you to stay awake.”

A sea of redness. The feeling of floating. Something strong and solid holding onto her. Something gentle.

_Root_ , she thought and forced her eyes open.

But it wasn’t Root. It was Daniel, carrying her in his arms as he got them both out of the warehouse.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Shaw mumbled.

“Don’t talk about that now,” Daniel muttered, his breathing ragged from the strain of carrying Shaw’s weight.

_I wasn’t talking to you_ , she thought and closed her eyes once again.

*

When Shaw woke up, she was alone.

Everything still hurt and she felt tired. The kind of tired you get, not from lack of sleep, but from sleeping for far _too_ long.

She couldn’t remember how she got here - this dark and drab hospital room in the middle of the night - but she remembered the warehouse. The knife in her side. _Daniel._

Shaw sat up and regretted it instantly. Fire burned across her back and abdomen and, for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The IV pulled at her arm, another puncture to her already wounded body.

He must be alright though. If he had got her here, then he must be alright.

Shaw lay back down, closing her eyes and breathing through the pain. She tried to work out how long she had been here, but it hurt too much to move, to check the knife wound in her side to see how much it had healed.

She had the sickening feeling she had been here for a while.

Sleep, after the pain had passed, found her once again.

This time, instead of the dark nothingness of unconsciousness, Shaw dreamed. Of the life she once had and the life she could have had.

She dreamt of stolen kisses in the dark, a warm body next to hers. Always feeling _too_ hot but so cold when it was gone. The longing and the emptiness, of never wanting to feel like that again. Helpless. She didn’t know what to do. How to stop making things worse. Only knew that she didn’t _want_ it to be like this anymore.

She wanted the easiness of it again. The overt come ons and the mildly embarrassed defensiveness, bordering on hostility. Even if it was just for show. It was easy. It was _them_.

The next time Shaw woke up, she wasn’t alone. A severe looking nurse fussed with her IV.

“Phone,” Shaw croaked and when she received nothing more than a stern look she repeated the request in Russian with a little more force. The nurse finally nodded, disappearing for a few moments before returning with a cell phone that looked like it was about ten years old. Shaw took it from her, sitting up slightly and glaring until she was left alone.

She hated how her fingers fumbled across the keypad as she dialled and it took her two attempts before she got it right. She had no idea what time it was, and was too out of it to even work out the time difference. But after several rings, a familiar voice sounded on the other end.

“Finch,” said Shaw.

“Ms. Shaw?” said Harold, sounding startled and relieved all at once. “Oh, thank God.”

“How long,” said Shaw and coughed slightly when her voice became hoarse. “How long have I been gone?”

“About eight weeks…”

_Eight weeks._ She had been in this bed for about three then. Unconscious. Alone.

“Are you alright?” Harold asked. She could hear the concern in his voice and closed her eyes. “I’m tracing this call. You're in Botkin hospital. What happened?”

“Stab wound,” Shaw explained. “I’m fine. Where’s Daniel?”

“He’s not with you?” said Harold.

“No,” said Shaw and wondered if he had ever been here. If he had just dumped her outside and left, off to find the nearest bar. “I have to get out of here.”

“No!” said Harold. “I’m reading your file. From what I can translate, you were injured rather badly. They had to remove your kidney.”

Shaw groaned. “It’s fine, I can survive with one.”

“I doubt that’s the point,” said Harold. And Shaw couldn’t agree more when she tried to sit up, pulled at her stitches and hissed in pain. “Please,” Harold begged. “Stay where you are. Allow your body to heal itself. I’ll look for Daniel.”

“Fine,” said Shaw, settling back down onto the bed. It was becoming an effort just to keep her breathing even. She could feel her eyes wanting to close, struggling against the hospital room’s fluorescent lighting.

After a few moments of silence, Harold asked, “Did you find who you were looking for?”

Shaw closed her eyes briefly. How much had the Machine already told him?

“Yes,” she said.

“And?” said Harold.

“And I dealt with it.”

“Ms. Shaw-”

“I have to go,” said Shaw. “I’ll be in touch.”

She hung up the phone before Harold could reply.

 

_//Locating assets…_

_//Asset Sameen Shaw found…_

_//Location…Manhattan, New York_

_//Local time… 19:27…_

Shaw didn’t like the neighbourhood, let alone the apartment building Root was now living in. At least the main front door seemed secure enough, but she would have preferred a double deadbolt rather than just the one.

Inside the building wasn’t much better. She had seen worse, she had _lived_ in worse, but it just didn’t feel like the kind of place where Root belonged. Shaw wasn’t sure _where_ that was, she was just positive it wasn’t here.

Finding the right apartment, it was with some hesitancy that Shaw knocked. She wasn’t nervous, far from it. More… concerned about how the evening would go. If Root would enjoy herself or if she would find the whole thing - and Shaw - really lame.

Root opened the door a few moments later, dressed casually in dark denim jeans and an old sweater far too big for her. It was a little too casual for what Shaw had planned and she frowned.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” Shaw asked. Saying nothing, Root stepped aside to allow Shaw in. “Am I early?” she said, not liking the look on Root’s face. Something felt off and Root avoided her eye as she shut the door. “You okay?”

“What were you doing in Moscow?” Root asked bluntly.

Shaw stiffened. Watching Root’s face, she could see the anger lighting her eyes like a fire. She hadn’t seen that look in a long time. Not since she had ruthlessly gone after Jason after he’d killed Daizo.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Shaw eventually. “Just go get ready.”

Root ignored her request. “What were you doing?” she repeated.

“Root…”

“It had something to do with Gen’s letter, didn’t it?” said Root evenly. “The one from her mother.”

“Root,” Shaw said. “Don’t.”

“The one about her father,” said Root and even though she wasn’t speaking to the Machine anymore, even though Shaw knew there was no way she could have possibly found out the details, Shaw knew she couldn’t lie. Not anymore. Not about this.

“I took care of it,” said Shaw.

“What did you do?” Root asked.

“I told you, I took care of it,” Shaw repeated.

“You killed him,” said Root.

Shaw looked away, clenching her jaw tightly. She didn’t regret her decision. She had done what she needed to do.

“Why?” said Root, shaking her head. She had her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her shoulders slumped. She could barely even look at Shaw.

“Because,” said Shaw, “if he had found her - if he knew about Gen - then he would have took her away from us.” Root looked at her sharply. “And I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So you killed him,” said Root, like murder was a horrible concept to her. Like she herself had never killed before. As if she had ever been that innocent.

“Yes,” Shaw sighed, tired of the conversation. “It’s not like he was a nice guy. Trust me, it’s no great loss.”

“It doesn’t matter what he did,” Root snapped. “He’s Gen’s father.”

“Root,” said Shaw sternly. “She can’t know about this. She wouldn’t understand.”

“That you killed her father?” said Root. An unamused breath escaped her mouth. “Of course she won’t.”

“She didn’t even know the guy,” Shaw snapped, annoyed that Root couldn’t see that. Couldn’t understand that what Shaw had done was the best for all of them.

“That doesn’t matter,” said Root quietly, face contorting. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t care.”

Frowning, Shaw watched as Root shook her head in something like defeat before moving to perch on the edge of the couch. Shaw wanted to follow her, to force her to understand, but she didn’t dare move. All she could do was stand there and watch as Root exhaled heavily, her eyes wide and distant.

“I won’t lie to her about this,” said Root eventually. She looked up at Shaw. “I can’t.”

Shaw clenched her jaw. “Root, you can’t. If-”

“Is that why you’ve been different?” Root asked, meeting Shaw’s eyes for the first time since she arrived. Shaw wasn’t sure if she liked what she saw there. “Since you came back, is that why you’ve been different with me? Because you feel guilty about what you did?”

“What? No,” said Shaw, taking a step forward. Root flinched and Shaw stopped in her tracks staring at Root and searching for answers she couldn’t find. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Be _hard_. Not this time.

“Then why?” said Root, clenching her hands tightly in her lap as she stared at them. Shaw didn’t know what answer she was looking for, what she could say that would make Root understand. All she knew was that she had spent three days in a hospital bed after waking up and the only thing she could think about was Root.

“When I was in Moscow,” Shaw said slowly. She swallowed, fumbling to find the right words. “When I… killed Gen’s father. I got hurt. Bad.”

“How bad?” Root murmured, still not daring to look up.

“Lost a kidney bad,” said Shaw, shaking her head because that wasn’t important. “Almost died bad.”

Root’s mouth formed into and “O” shape but she didn’t say anything.

“Look,” said Shaw, “the point is, I did a lot of thinking. About what happened, about us and what I want.”

“And what’s that?” said Root when Shaw lost her train of thought again. She looked up, but this time it was Shaw that averted her gaze.

“You,” said Shaw, with more surety that she had ever felt. “I want you.”

“Right,” said Root, exhaling loudly.

“I mean it,” said Shaw. “I get it now. Why you left. Why you had to go after him.”

“And what,” said Root sceptically, “you just stopped being angry?”

“Yes,” said Shaw simply. She had woken up in a hospital bed in the heart of Russia, her body in agony and decided she wasn’t going to be angry anymore. She wasn’t going to let Jason ruin everything for a second time.

He was still here, like a phantom haunting everything they did, everything they touched. Despite death, he echoed across time, tainting everything that was good. Root might not be able to let go, to forget what he had done to her, anytime soon, but Shaw could. She could forgive, she could understand.

Root ran away to protect them all and Shaw couldn’t stay mad at her for it. Not anymore.

She had just never anticipated Root being the one angry with her.

“What are you going to do?” Shaw asked quietly, voice hoarse.

“I can’t lie to her,” said Root. “Not about this.”

“Right.” Shaw swallowed thickly. “What about us?”

Root sighed biting her lip and for the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, Shaw’s heart seized with something almost like fear.

“I don’t know,” said Root.

“Root,” said Shaw desperately, taking another step forward and glad when Root didn’t flinch away from her this time. She sat on the coffee table, their knees touching, but Shaw didn’t dare do anything more than that. “This doesn’t change anything. What happened the other night-”

“This changes everything,” Root snapped, standing up abruptly. Shaw reached for her automatically, grabbing onto her wrist and surprised by the anger that flashed in Root’s eyes when she pulled away, moving to the other side of the room. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I…” Shaw began. When Root glared at her, she found she couldn’t lie. “No.”

This was supposed to be her burden and hers alone. No one was supposed to find out. Not Root, not Gen. Yet here they were.

“Root-”

“Shut up,” Root ordered. Shaw frowned at her. There was no longer anger in Root’s voice, in her stance. She was standing straight now, frozen in place, eyes wide with fear.

“What’s wrong?” Shaw asked, standing up and moving towards her. Shaw knew that look. Knew the Machine was speaking to Root. It had been so long that, whatever it was, Shaw was sure it couldn’t be good. “Root?”

Root ignored her, staring at nothing as she listened to the Machine. Her hands were shaking, Shaw noticed, and when she took one of them in hers, feeling Root’s racing pulse under her fingertips, Root finally snapped out of it. “What is it?”

“Gen,” said Root.

“What?”

“I...” Root stammered, pulling out of Shaw’s grip and fumbling around like she wasn’t sure what to do. Shaw grabbed onto her elbow, forcing Root to look at her. “There’s no time.”

“What’s happening?” Shaw asked.

“She’s in trouble,” said Root, eyes wild and desperate. She was starting to panic and Shaw wasn’t sure what to do to calm her down. Before she could do anything, she needed more information, but Root wasn’t going to tell her anything coherent in this state.

“What kind of trouble?” Shaw asked, trying to focus her.

“We don’t have time to talk about it,” said Root. Wrenching free of Shaw’s grasp, Root picked up her jacket from the coat rack by the door. “We have to go _now_.”

“Okay,” said Shaw, following her out of the door. “Let’s go.”

She tried not to think about what trouble meant. Tried not to believe in coincidences.

But this one was too much.

And it was with a sense of dread that Shaw left Root’s crummy apartment building to go after Gen.


	24. Part 2: Chapter 24

Driving faster than was considered safe, and far beyond the speed limit, Shaw wondered if the Machine was clearing her a safe route. All lights at green and not a cop in sight, she drove through the city streets with ease.

It didn’t matter though, how quickly she got there. Because by the time Shaw slammed on the breaks outside Reese and Zoe’s apartment building, Root was already jumping out of the car and saying, “We’re too late. They’re already inside.”

Shaw didn’t know who “they” were exactly, but she had a bad feeling about it all the same as she followed Root inside. It was the same tightness in her gut she always felt when her senses told her a mission was about to go south, that she had to get out of there fast.

She wished she had more backup than just Root. Reese, when she had called him hastily on their way over, was working a number. Detecting something in her voice when she said Gen was in trouble, he had dropped everything immediately and announced he was on his way. Unfortunately, Queens wasn’t exactly close and Shaw had no idea if he would get here in time.

It was up to her and Shaw pulled her gun out as she climbed the stairs, a few flights behind Root as she struggled to breathe through the flash of pain at her side. Her body wasn’t quite up to full strength yet and it was screaming out at this abuse, but Shaw ignored it and forced her feet to keep moving.

Root was already inside when Shaw finally made it to the apartment. Door kicked in and hanging off its hinges. Whoever was here didn’t care about getting noticed. Nor did they care about hurting other people in the crossfire.

In the hallway a few feet from the door, Zoe Morgan lay unconscious, hair and limbs splayed out wildly. Root stood over her looking pale and biting her lip.

“Is she…”

Shaw knelt down at her side, feeling for a pulse at Zoe’s neck. “It’s weak. She’s not breathing.”

Tucking her gun away, Shaw checked for any signs of injury. There was no blood, so that was good, but not all injuries were external and Shaw knew whatever had rendered her unconscious couldn’t be good.

Shaw tipped Zoe’s head back to check her airway was clear before starting CPR. She felt stiff and frail beneath Shaw’s hands and Shaw had to keep reminding herself that it was two lives she was trying to save and not just one. Desperately needed oxygen and blood and everything else for survival hindered on this moment. On what Shaw was doing.

It had been awhile, since she’d had this feeling. The rush of saving a life. She’d patched up her fair share of cuts and scrapes and bullet wounds over the years since quitting her residency, but nothing like this.

A life in her hands.

Not until she’d had to save Root’s life last year, resurrect her weakened heart, had she felt like this. Back then, she had struggled to see the patient she needed Root to be. But Root had always been more than that. With Zoe, Shaw could easily forget that she knew her, that she was a friend of sorts, and do what needed to be done. Save her life.

_Focus_.

Shaw tuned everything else out. The distant scream from the other side of the apartment. Root disappearing in search for it. She focused on Zoe, getting air into her lungs and forcing her heart into beating again.

There was a cough and some spluttering and eventually Zoe gasped air into her lungs. Arms flailing in confusion, Shaw grabbed onto them to still her.

“Don’t move,” Shaw ordered, hearing a crash from the other room. _Gen’s_ room. Zoe nodded and did what she was told and Shaw pulled her gun out, following Root’s footsteps and cursing the Machine for not giving them more intel. Like how many people she was up against. If they were armed. What they wanted. Although, that much, she could guess and decided she really didn’t like the outcome.

Gen’s room was chaos when Shaw reached the doorway.

One guy. Unarmed by the looks of it. Gen huddled in one corner, trying to look as small as possible while Root had grabbed onto the guy from behind, one arm around his throat. But he was too strong for her and he easily threw her off. Root flew backwards, hitting her head on the nightstand before landing on the floor. She sat still for a moment, dazed, and the guy, not noticing Shaw, moved for Gen once again.

Shaw didn’t hesitate. The bullet leaving her gun wild and screaming as it hit him in the left shoulder. He toppled backwards slightly and Shaw grabbed him by the arm, kneeing him in the crotch until he was down on his knees. She brought the butt of her gun down on the back of his head for good measure, listening to him grunt as he fell unconscious.

“Root?” said Shaw. Blood was now pouring from her head where she had hit the corner of the nightstand, her eyes glassy as she stared at the fallen body.

“I’m fine,” said Root, bringing a hand to her head and bringing back bloody fingers. “Remind me to bring my Taser next time.”

Shaw wanted to laugh with relief but she turned to Gen instead. “You okay?”

Saying nothing, Gen stood up on shaky legs and walked over to Root. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms tightly around Root’s waist, heedless of the blood dripping down one side of Root’s head. Root held onto her tight, pressing her face into the top of Gen’s head and sighing in relief.

“There’s two more outside,” Root said, lifting her head up suddenly. “Black van across the street.”

Shaw took her back-up piece out, handing it to Root. “He moves,” she said, gesturing towards the unconscious man on the floor, “you shoot him.”

She waited until Root nodded in confirmation before heading back through the apartment.

In total disregard of her instructions, Zoe had moved herself into a sitting position. She didn’t look good. In fact, she looked terrible. But Shaw didn’t have the time to worry about her right now, she just hoped the Machine had the foresight to call an ambulance.

Now that the threat was over, now that Gen was no longer in any immediate danger, it was with less urgency that Shaw made her way down the stairs. Pain burned at her side and she knew her vigorous movements had put too much strain on the still healing wound. She didn’t care, not as long as Gen was safe, and she forced herself to keep moving, to find out for sure who these guys were.

Outside, Shaw’s heavy breathing puffed clouds of air into the night. Across the street, she could see the van the Machine had told Root about. Shaw raised her gun, spotting two men at the front. The driver had dark hair poking beneath a black beanie, his face red from the cold. But it was the man in the passenger seat that Shaw recognised. Short blonde hair, thin scar on his left cheek.

The man from the warehouse. The one responsible for the wound at her side and the loss of one of her kidneys. The Solntsevskaya Bratva’s second in command.

Aiming for the van’s tires, Shaw let off a few rounds. But the man with the scar had seen Shaw as soon as she had stepped out of the building, ordering the man behind the wheel to drive them out of there. The van sped up the darkened street, leaving skid marks on the road in its haste. Shaw’s bullets missed their mark, bouncing off the rear bumper, merely denting it and doing nothing to slow the Russian’s down.

It didn’t matter anyway. There would only be more of them where they came from. There would always be more of them. And they had took it upon themselves to come after Gen.

Because of her.

*

“Will Ms. Morgan be alright?”

It took Shaw a moment to realise Finch was speaking to her and she tore her gaze away from Root, in the hands of a paramedic putting a gauze over the cut on her head. He looked like he knew what he was doing, but head wounds could be tricky, could be more serious than they looked and _why wasn’t he suggesting Root get checked out at the ER?_

“Ms. Shaw?”

“Hm?” said Shaw, shaking her head as Finch continued to stare at her. “She’ll be fine,” she lied, because Reese was behind Finch. He looked worse than she felt, exhausted and helpless, like nothing would ever be in his control again. He also looked angry.

“The guy in Gen’s room isn’t talking,” said Reese, staring coldly at Shaw. “When I asked him some questions, all I got in response was some colourful Russian swear words.”

Shaw kept her mouth shut, but she could feel Finch looking at her as she swallowed and stared past Reese. This time her eyes found Gen sitting, alone, in the backseat of her car.

“You want to tell me what the hell this was about?” Reese demanded. “You were in Russia, weren’t you? This had something to do with you?”

In all the time she had known him, working together to save numbers, through losing Carter to the rise and fall of Samaritan, Shaw didn’t think she had ever seen John Reese so visibly upset, trying so hard to swallow back his emotions. So angry and scared as the muscles on his neck clenched when he gritted his teeth.

“Mr Reese,” Finch said cautiously, “regardless of what Ms. Shaw may or may not have been doing in Moscow, perhaps now isn’t the best time to discuss it.”

Reese turned is dark gaze onto Finch, his jaw clenching tightly. “You knew about this?”

“John,” said Finch. “Perhaps you should go with Ms. Morgan to the hospital. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

He opened his mouth to say something and probably not something nice, but Root’s appearance at his side cut him off and he ended up snapping his mouth shut instead.

“They’re ready to take her,” Root said calmly, looking back towards the ambulance and the paramedic who had fixed her up, now loading up his things so they could leave. “You should go with her.”

Reese nodded and stormed past Finch and Shaw without a word to either of them.

“You should go too,” said Shaw. “You might have concussion.”

“I’m fine,” said Root. But she didn’t look fine. Pale and sick looking in a way that had Shaw worried. “I’m going to take Gen back to my place for the night,” she said to Finch.

“I’ll take you,” Shaw offered, surprised when Root turned a cold glare onto her.

“I think you’ve done enough,” she said icily. Once the words had left her mouth, she almost looked startled by them. Root shook her head, turning to Finch once again. “Could you give us a ride?”

“Of course,” he said. Root nodded and stepped away to go get Gen from the car. “Ms. Shaw,” Finch added, when Root was out of earshot. “I’d like to speak to you tomorrow. First thing.”

Shaw rolled her eyes at the way he could sound so much like a scolding school master. “Why,” she said, “am I fired from Team Machine?” The joke fell flat from her mouth and she wished hadn’t said anything at all.

“This isn’t a joke,” Finch snapped. His lips thinned as he got himself under control and, she supposed, for an outburst, it was relatively mild compared to what she deserved.

“I know,” Shaw muttered. Joke or not this was her fault. She had screwed up somewhere. Put Gen’s life in danger, Zoe’s too. And Root had gotten hurt. Not as bad as she could have been, but still… it was all down to Shaw and _her_ actions.

She felt the responsibility of it pressing down on her as she watched the three of them get into Harold’s car; Gen clinging on tightly to Root like she was a life vest in this chaotic sea of life.

*

She arrived, like always, after Finch. Sometimes Shaw wondered if he lived in this goddamn library. If he even had a home to go to. It took her a moment before she realised his clothes were the same as yesterday, that he’d been here all night, working away on solving this mess she had created.

“Good,” he said, glancing up and finding Shaw hovering several feet away from his desk. “You’re here.”

“You wanted to speak to me,” Shaw said, moving straight past the banalities of Finch’s small talk.

“Yes,” said Finch. “I’ve been doing some research. With the Machine’s help,” he added, gesturing to the glass board standing next to his desk. Several mugshots were already taped to it and Shaw recognised a few of the faces. The Russian Bratva.

Finch had them arranged like a pyramid and, at the very top, sat the man Shaw had seen last night. The man with the scar who had almost killed her in Moscow. Stepping over to the board, Shaw eyed the picture warily.

“His name is Vadik Volkov,” Finch explained.

“Yeah,” said Shaw. She already knew this from her weeks of surveillance. “He is high up in the Bratva. The boss’ right hand man.”

“No,” said Finch. “I don’t think he is.”

Shaw looked at him in confusion, wondering if his lack of sleep was making him confuse Volkov with someone else.

“I hacked into the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service,” Finch explained. “They have quite the file on this man. Or, rather, nothing very much at all.”

“Get to the point, Finch,” Shaw said impatiently.

“The point, Ms. Shaw,” said Finch pompously, “is that Vadik Volkov _is_ the boss. The head of the Russian Mafia himself.”

“No,” said Shaw shaking her head even as ice flooded her veins. “I _killed_ the boss.”

“I don’t think so,” said Finch. “You killed the man you thought was in charge. But he was just a front. I means of protecting the true leader of the Bratva.”

Shaw swallowed and it was like someone had shoved something thick and sticky down her throat. “Is he…”

“I had the Machine do some digging,” Harold said quietly. He was looking at Shaw carefully and she found she couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze. He wasn’t even angry. Just disappointed. Just another person she had let down. “Volkov is careful. There is very little known about him and his past; what he did, where he’s been. But the timing is correct.”

“He’s Gen’s father,” Shaw murmured.

“Yes,” said Finch.

Shaw blinked, held her eyes closed for just a moment longer than necessary before looking at Finch again. He didn’t have to say it, but she knew what he was thinking. _She had killed the wrong man_. And now, Gen’s _real_ father was coming after her. And it was all Shaw’s fault.

“I also had a look at the prison’s visitor’s log,” said Finch. “He visited Genrika’s mother – under a pseudonym, of course – but it was him. The Machine verified the security footage.”

“When?” Shaw asked.

“Does it –”

“ _When_?” Shaw repeated.

“Right around the time you were lying unconscious in a hospital bed,” said Finch. “I’m still trying to work out how he put two and two together.”

“It was the letter,” said Shaw, shaking her head because how could she have been so _stupid_?

“Letter?”

Shaw sighed. “Gen’s mom… she wrote her a letter about her father. It didn’t say who he was… just that he was dangerous, part of the Bratva – well, not in so many words. She said he didn’t know about Gen because… she wanted to protect her from him.”

“You never gave Gen the letter?” Harold asked.

“No,” said Shaw. “She would only have wanted to know more.”

“We always suspected Genrika’s father would be… an issue.”

“Yeah,” Shaw breathed. Which was why they had both been furious – and worried – when Gen and Root had run off to Moscow.

“So what does this letter have to do with Volkov coming here?” Harold asked.

“Because I lost it,” said Shaw. She shook her head, turning away from Harold and rubbing the back of her neck. Her head ached and her side throbbed and, really, it was a miracle – or sheer stubbornness – that was keeping her body going right now. “I had it with me. In the warehouse when I… _killed_ the guy I thought was Gen’s father. When I woke up in the hospital…”

“It was gone,” Harold finished. “They were watching you?”

“They must have been,” said Shaw. Or they were paying off the staff. She remembered her nurse, stiff and stern and practically stabbing her with an IV when Shaw had tried to remove it on her second day awake. The letter hadn’t even been a passing thought in her mind then. She thought she was safe. That she had completed her mission.

That she had done the right thing.

It wasn’t until after, once she was on a plane to New York, that she realised it was missing. But she hadn’t thought of the possibility, of the worst case scenario. She had been confident –arrogant even – and had just assumed she had lost it at some point from leaving the warehouse and reaching the hospital. That it was lost on a trauma room floor somewhere, washed away with her blood and guts.

“They followed you here,” Finch guessed and was probably right. They had probably been watching her, watching _Gen_ , for the past week. Waiting until Gen was vulnerable so they could make their move.

“Gen won’t be safe at Root’s,” Shaw said suddenly. She made to leave, but Finch caught her elbow with more daring than he had ever displayed before and held her back.

“The Machine is watching them carefully and Detective Fusco has a squad car opposite their building.”

“Finch,” Shaw warned. An entire army could be shielding them and Shaw wouldn’t care.

“Besides,” Finch added, “I doubt they’d make another move so soon.”

“That’s not the point,” said Shaw, a hundred suitable scenarios running through her mind of the safest place she could send them both. The safe house was their best bet for now, but even then… if the Bratva had been watching all of them, then who knows how much they knew? Even the library might not be safe anymore.

“I’ll have Detective Fusco bring them both to the safe house later,” Finch promised. But he couldn’t promise their safety. No one could.

“Fine,” said Shaw, deciding she would rather do it herself. Right now.

“There is one more thing,” said Harold before she could leave.

“What?” Shaw said sullenly. If he was about to lecture her on her mistake, then he could shove it. She wasn’t in the mood.

“I spoke to Mr Reese this morning,” Harold said carefully. He sounded almost pained, causing Shaw to glance up at him.

“What happened?” she said when he said nothing more, just ducked his head and blinked. “Finch?”

“There was… a complication,” he began.

“Is Zoe –”

“She’s fine,” Harold assured her. “It – ah…”

He turned away, rubbing at his face, his shoulders slumping. He looked like someone had just kicked Bear. Except this was far worse.

“She lost the baby, didn’t she?” said Shaw, watching as Harold could only nod. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

She should have done more. Last night, she shouldn’t have just left her like that… she should have –

But no. There wasn’t anything she could have done. It was probably already too late by the time they had gotten there.

“I think it’s best,” Harold began, swallowing thickly, “that you give Mr Reese some space for a little while.”

“Right,” said Shaw.

“He’s rather… upset at the news,” Finch explained. “I’m sure he’s not the only one.”

Shaw glanced at him, but Harold wasn’t looking at her. She hadn’t given much thought to Reese’s baby beyond being disgusted by the whole thing. She hadn’t considered that Harold might have been thrilled by the news. That after so long, after so many losses and feeling like they could never do enough, something good was happening in their lives. Harold just wanted Reese to be happy, she realised, and it was her fault that it was taken away from him.

But she could see it in Harold’s eyes – or, at least, could tell by the way he avoided meeting her gaze – that he blamed her for this. And it would only be a hundred times worse with Reese. She remembered what it was like after Carter, following Reese’s trail for vengeance. She was always one step behind and the mess he left, the pain and destruction, seemed to get worse and worse as he gained distance to Alonzo Quinn.

She thought this – losing a child that hadn’t even been born yet – she thought it might worse. There was nothing in her life that she could compare it to. Her father’s death, although unexpected, was so long ago now. She had been indifferent then. It had been so much easier to quiet the voices and not feel anything at all.

Right after Root left it had been different though. It had been chaotic and loud, like the very brink of a storm ready to tear the world apart. Shaw wondered if that was what it would be like for Reese, only worse with his voices never on mute, never low like the sound of an old record player, crackling and sticking. They would be sharp and clear and she decided that Harold was right. She should keep her distance.

She should keep her distance from them all.

Shaw left without a word. And, really, there wasn’t anything more to say. Nothing that could make up for what she had done, the mess she had brought to all their doorsteps. She wanted nothing more than to get out of this building, go somewhere far away where she couldn’t hurt anybody else. But she couldn’t do that. Not until she made sure Root and Gen were safe.

She didn’t even make it out of the damn building before her phone went off. That familiar ringtone she had come to associate with the Machine. Perhaps a lead on where Gen’s father was hiding, she hoped. The text message was for an address somewhere downtown and the Machine didn’t give her any more information than that, playing cryptic as usual, like this was all some big game that She controlled.

And, in a way, Shaw thought it was. How long had the Machine known Volkov was watching her? That he was in New York? That he was Gen’s father? And why the hell had it taken so long for Her to tell them Gen was in trouble?

Anger flashed through Shaw and it felt good, much better than everything else pulsing inside of her. Anger, as always, she could live with. Could control and expend through various means. Maybe the Machine knew that too. She could do with shooting a few people right about now and felt her hand twitching for her gun, the cool, hard metal reassuring as usual.

But it wasn’t bad guys she found when she reached her destination downtown.

It was Daniel.

Although it had only been a few weeks since Shaw had last seen him - most of which she had spent unconscious - Daniel was almost unrecognisable. Scraggly beard and hair longer than she had ever seen it, and looking like it hadn't been washed in days, he looked like a tramp at the peak of his day. At least he had the drunk part down. And the harassing random people in the street.

Shaw parked a little way down the block, watching the commotion. Daniel was all up in the face of another man, dressed in a nice suit and face turning red from anger as he tried to get Daniel away from him. Whatever he was saying, Daniel wasn’t listening.

Her phone buzzed and Shaw glanced down at the message.

_Timothy Sloan._

The man in the nice suit, Shaw thought and looked back up at him. She recognised the name but not the face.

Jason’s foster brother.

With this new information, and looking at the way Sloan was acting - defensive but still trying to appease Daniel - she suspected this wasn't their first encounter. Shaw got out of the car, strolling purposefully towards the two men. Sloan’s eyes darted to her, relieved that he was no longer alone in the deserted street.

"Daniel," said Shaw. He ignored her, or didn't hear, and slurred something in Sloan's direction.

"Get this nut job drunk away from me before I call the cops on him again."

_Again?_

“Daniel,” said Shaw, grabbing his elbow and tugging him away. “Let’s go.”

“I have to talk to him,” Daniel said. His voice came out in a slur and Shaw shoved him in the direction of her car, ignoring Sloan and hoping he would let the matter drop.

“Are you out of your mind?” said Shaw once they had reached the car. She opened the passenger door and forced him inside. “It’s barely nine in the morning and your drunk?”

“Why do you care?” said Daniel. Shaw gritted her teeth and slammed the door shut in his face. After everything, he was lucky she didn’t just leave him out on the street. He had left her in a Moscow hospital, after all, alone and dying, where it had been so easy for the Russian mafia to find her.

Shaw forced herself to calm down and the walk around to the other side of the car was enough to let her anger go for now. It wasn’t something Daniel needed right now, despite how pissed off she was at him.

Getting into the car, Shaw didn’t bother starting the engine. Instead, she stared out the front window, watching as Timothy Sloan walked in the opposite direction. She stared until he turned the corner at the end of the block, disappearing out of sight. It was just enough time for the silence in the car to grow heavy, for Shaw to wonder why the Machine had contacted her about this. Why her? Of all people... What good could she possibly do in a situation like this? What could she do that wouldn’t make it a thousand times worse?

Shaw sighed, scratching at her temple. She wanted this day to be over and it had barely even begun.

“You can’t keep doing this, Daniel,” she said eventually. She kept her eyes to the front, afraid that if she looked at him he might break. “There’s only one way this ends.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” Daniel said. He sounded broken and lost, nothing like the Daniel Casey she had come to trust and rely on this last year.

“Do you want to?” Shaw asked, tilting her head slightly to look at him. She wished she hadn’t. No one should look that vulnerable and have a witness to it.

Daniel swallowed, staring at his knees. The denim covering them was faded and worn, much like him ever since Citi Field.

“Don’t let him do this, Daniel,” said Shaw when he didn’t give her an answer. “He killed Daizo, took a year of Root’s life… don’t let Greenfield take yours too.”

“I keep seeing his face,” Daniel said as if he hadn’t even heard her speak.

“Jason?”

“Daizo,” said Daniel. “He was always so… trusting. We’d go away on these missions, following Root and that voice in her head. Me and Jason, we’d always wonder if she was crazy. If we were about to follow a crazy person to our deaths. But Daizo… he trusted her – trusted _us_ – completely. And we let him down.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Daniel,” said Shaw.

“I should have known,” said Daniel. Pain laced his voice and Shaw found she couldn’t look at him. Not like this.

“Jason played all of us,” said Shaw bitterly.

“ _No_ ,” said Daniel firmly. “ _I_ should have known.”

Shaw frowned. “What do you mean?”

Daniel ignored her question and rubbed at his eyes, covering his face for a long moment.

“I found something,” he said eventually. “On Jason’s computer.”

Shaw remained quiet, worried that if she spoke it would scare Daniel into silence.

“We were working some relevant number,” Daniel continued. “Somewhere in Europe, I can’t remember where exactly. Anyway… the three of them, they were out gathering intel. I don’t even remember now why I needed to use it.”

“Use what?” asked Shaw.

“Jason’s laptop,” said Daniel. “I found… I didn’t know what it was. Some weird code. I didn’t even get much of a look at it before he came back. But I should have –”

He broke off, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes again, red and blood shot.

“It was about the Machine,” he said. “The code. It was part of the Machine. But I didn’t… I didn’t question him on it and didn’t even _think_ about it because he…”

“Because he what?” Shaw asked, pretending not to notice the sob Daniel choked back.

“Because I was in love with him and I let him spin me some story about how it was just meaningless code he was playing about with. I let him –”

Now he was crying. So much that he couldn’t even speak, sobs wracking his entire body. Shaw desperately wanted to get out of the car and leave him to it, but she found herself frozen in place. Maybe not stunned by his revelation, but definitely surprised by it.

Still, it wasn’t Daniel’s fault, everything that followed. He couldn’t have known what that code really meant, couldn’t have known what Jason was planning. He couldn’t blame himself for this and she realised that, much like Root, he had been. But instead of running away, instead of hunting Jason down, he had stayed here with her and tried to bury is guilt underneath a pile of relevant numbers.

She could have told him a year ago that was never going to work.

Now he was using alcohol instead. Which, in the long run, probably wasn’t going to work either.

“Daniel,” said Shaw once he had finally gotten himself under control. Tears were still streaming down his cheeks and his breathing was a little ragged, but at least he no longer sounded like a wailing cat. Shaw was thankful for that much. “Whatever… happened between you two,” she said, deciding she would rather not know. She could imagine enough. Wouldn’t put it past Jason to play on Daniel’s feelings for him and use it to his advantage. “Daizo wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t yours or Root’s or anybody’s. It just happened. And the only person to blame is _him_.”

“I hate feeling like this,” said Daniel, taking a shaky a breath. “But I can’t make it stop.”

He was talking about the drinking, the need and dependency for it he’d developed so quickly.

“Do you want to?” Shaw asked. “Because I can’t help you if you don’t –”

“Yes,” said Daniel. “I want it to stop. Just make it stop.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” said Daniel, sniffling back more tears. “How?”

“Look,” she said, gripping the steering wheel as she turned to face him. “I know this guy… runs a rehab facility upstate. It’s quiet. You’ll like it.”

“Rehab?” said Daniel doubtfully.

Shaw nodded. “Yes. He’s also discrete. So if you need to, you can talk to him… about what happened.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Know this guy how?”

“I went to med school with him.” Shaw shrugged. “He’s a good guy.”

And he was about the only person Shaw hadn’t hated back then. He had kept to himself, much like Shaw did, which made them allies of a sort. She hadn’t spoken to or seen him in years, not since quitting her residency, but she had kept tabs on him over the years out of habit. One of the few people from her old life that she even bothered with.

“Okay,” Daniel said eventually.

“You’ll go?” said Shaw.

Daniel nodded. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” said Shaw. “I’ll make some phone calls. In the meantime, you need to rehydrate and eat something.”

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Tough,” said Shaw, glancing out the window. “There’s a diner down the street, come on.”

She got out of the car, pausing a beat until Daniel followed her. His steps were wobbly as she led him down the street but he didn’t complain or protest and when they stepped into the diner he sat down in one of the booths without a word. Shaw ordered him a glass of water and some soup and he agreed it was probably the only thing his body might be capable of keeping down at the moment. She didn’t order anything for herself, just some coffee that was too strong and bitter for her tastes.

Leaving Daniel to sip at his soup, Shaw stepped outside to make her phone calls. They were lucky there was a place available at such short notice and Shaw suspected the Machine might have had a hand in ensuring they got a place before anyone else.

When she stepped back into the diner and took a seat at the booth, Shaw found Daniel staring out the window. Most of his soup remained untouched, but Shaw decided not to push it for now. At least he had drank all the water.

“What?” said Daniel, turning away from the window when Shaw continued to stare at him.

“Nothing…” she said. “Look, can you… get up there by yourself? There’s something I need to do.”

A smile, shy and small, grazed Daniel’s lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t skip out on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not,” said Shaw. “But I can come if you want.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Shaw said doubtfully and bit her lip. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him… well, actually, she didn’t. She trusted _Daniel_ , just not the drunk part of him that was causing his fingers to drum incessantly on the table and his leg to bounce uncontrollably. He wanted a drink, she could tell, and she knew if she let him out of her sight he might not be able to control himself.

He needed her to go with him and all Shaw could think about was Root and Gen and getting them to the safe house as soon as possible. It didn’t matter to her that Fusco had put two of New York’s finest outside their building. They weren’t _her._ They didn’t know Root and Gen and what they were up against. They couldn’t protect them as well as Shaw could.

As if sensing her doubts, Shaw’s phone buzzed and she smiled down at the familiar unknown number and read the message.

“What is it?” said Daniel.

“The Machine,” Shaw explained, shaking her head in amusement. That damn machine could see everything, but sometimes Shaw wondered if She could read minds too. “She’s booked you a cab. Pre-paid to take you straight there.”

“Looks like I can’t get out of it now, huh?” he joked. Shaw smiled at him weakly, because if he was having doubts, if he didn’t really want to help himself then there was no point in him going all the way up there. “I guess She really does care about us.”

“Who?” said Shaw.

“The Machine,” said Daniel. “Root always said She cared. I never really believed it. Not until Moscow.”

“What do you mean?” Shaw asked.

“When you got hurt,” said Daniel and looked away. “I think she was worried. She guided me – us – out of there and to safety. But She was worried about you.”

“It’s just a machine, Daniel,” said Shaw, but even as she said it she knew it wasn’t quite true. The Machine wasn’t the same machine chugging out numbers that She had been when Shaw had first teamed up with Finch and Reese. Now She cared about all of them in ways that Shaw couldn’t even imagine. The Machine had evolved far beyond an AI and Shaw didn’t think she would ever understand quite how much. She wasn’t even sure she actually wanted to know. Let Finch have his mysterious conversations with his creation. Shaw would rather stay out of it.

Rain began to drizzle down outside, spitting against the window and obscuring the world. The street was busier now and Shaw watched as people pulled out umbrellas or huddled beneath hoods as they dashed across the street to their destinations. A yellow cab pulled up outside the diner, its breaks screeching.

“Your cab’s here,” said Shaw. She clasped her hand around her still full coffee cup. It had gone cold by now and Shaw stared down into its black watery depths as if she would find the solution to all of her problems.

“I should go then,” said Daniel, yet he didn’t move.

“Yeah,” said Shaw. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Daniel smiled and, for a moment, he was almost like his normal self. “I’m good. Go do what you need to do. Don’t worry about me.”

“I do worry though,” Shaw admitted. Whether she liked it or not, she cared about him. He was her partner, but more than that… he was her friend. And Shaw didn’t exactly have many of those. Daniel watched her for a moment, his jaw quivering, unsure how to respond. That was okay though, Shaw thought, she didn’t need him to. He had saved her ass in Moscow and now she was just returning the favour. It was the least she could do.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually, staring at the coffee in Shaw’s hands when she looked at him questioningly. “For leaving you there. I just…”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he said. “I screwed up and you almost died.”

Shaw shook her head. “You didn’t screw up. Believe me,” she added, because she knew what screwing up was like and she had just done it spectacularly.

“I should go,” said Daniel after a moment. He stood up and, this time, his legs were more stable and he looked like he might just be able to walk in a straight line. “Shaw,” he added and she glanced up at him. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

She nodded, swallowing, and watched him leave, wondering if he would be okay. If he would finally be able to let Jason go.

She watched him until he left the diner, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself. And she watched until he got into the back of the cab, until it pulled back out onto the road and drove off out of Shaw’s view.

*

Upon a second visit, Root’s apartment building didn’t improve. Logically, Shaw knew the interior couldn’t have gotten worse overnight, but she thought the paint might have been peeling more and the lights might have dimmed a little all the same.

She had been pleased by the squad car out front and the way the officer behind the wheel had eyed her suspiciously as she entered the building. At least someone knew how to do their job and she made a mental note to thank Fusco for tasking competent cops on this one. Maybe buy him that Desert Eagle he’d been eying up for months.

There was no thrum of excitement and anticipation when Shaw knocked on Root’s door this time. Only the impending sense of dread, the same she had experienced last night when Root insisted Gen was in trouble. Maybe just a little worse.

It seemed to take forever for Root to answer. It was still early and Shaw wondered if they were both still asleep. She felt for her gun all the same, giving Root ten more seconds to answer before she would kick the door open herself and take a look inside.

Root opened the door in eight seconds, dressed but still looking half asleep.

“Hey,” said Shaw and tried not to take it personally when Root didn’t return the greeting. At least she let her in, there was that, even if it was with an air of reluctance.

The cut on Root’s head had turned into a raw and ragged gash. Shaw reached out her hand automatically, intending to take a closer look. But Root tilted her head away, out of reach, a hard look on her face and Shaw let her arm fall uselessly to the side.

“Where’s Gen?” she asked, swallowing away the rejection.

“Still asleep on the couch,” said Root, keeping her voice low. Shaw glanced over to the couch in question, but couldn’t see Gen from this angle. Shaw opened her mouth to say something, but Root cut her off before she could, her tone snappish like she wanted nothing more than for Shaw to be gone. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh… I spoke to Finch this morning.”

“I know,” said Root. “She told me everything.”

Shaw looked up in surprise at that. “About Gen’s father?”

“That you killed the wrong man?” said Root snidely. “Yes.”

“Did you tell her?” Shaw asked and wanted to add: _Did you tell her what I did?_

Root bit her lip, watching Shaw for a moment as she hugged her arms tightly around herself. “No. I figured she had been through enough for one night.”

Shaw swallowed and turned away. “I messed up,” she admitted and wondered if Root knew how hard it was for her to say it out loud. If she even cared.

“Yeah,” Root agreed, the word jabbing into Shaw like a needle. “You did.”

“What else did She tell you?” Shaw asked. She found, now that she was here, that she couldn’t look at Root. Couldn’t bear having those brown eyes looking down on her with such judgement and despair. “Did She tell you about Zoe?”

“Yes,” said Root and now she didn’t sound so angry anymore. She wasn’t sad like Harold had been, more lost than anything else, like she wasn’t sure where to go from here. Neither was Shaw and she worried that they would both be stuck like this forever.

“I never meant –”

“Shaw,” said Root tiredly. She closed her eyes briefly before looking at her again. “Why are you here?” she asked again, but Shaw suspected that wasn’t what she had meant to say.

“It’s not safe here,” said Shaw. “I’m going to take her to the safe house.”

Root frowned. “Harold’s picking us up later.”

“I know,” said Shaw. “But I’d rather sooner than later.”

Seemingly by itself, the TV in the living room switched on. The volume was loud compared to the stillness of the apartment and Shaw and Root’s intense, but hushed conversation. The channels switched rapidly before landing on a cartoon. That stupid yellow sponge who’s voice always grated on Shaw’s nerves.

Gen was awake and Root shot Shaw a look she couldn’t decipher before walking over and sitting on the edge of the coffee table. Shaw followed a little, keeping her distance. She was close enough now that she could see the top of Gen’s head; messy blonde curls sprayed out in every direction.

“How long have you been awake?” Root asked.

Gen shrugged and stared at the TV. “Long enough.”

“Gen,” said Root and took the remote from her hand so she could turn down the TV.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Gen asked. “About my father?”

“Yes,” said Root. “You just never gave me a chance. That’s what you get for spying.”

There was a lightness to Root’s voice that, Shaw suspected, was completely lost on Gen as she sat and stared at the TV. The yellow sponge was yammering to his pink friend and Shaw was grateful she could no longer hear what was being said.

“Was it him?” Gen eventually said. “The man in my bedroom. Was that my father?”

“No,” said Shaw, moving around so she could face Gen. “He was outside.”

Gen pursed her lips together. “Why?”

“Why what, kiddo?” said Root.

“Why was – why _is_ he after me?” Gen asked. “What does he want?”

“Because he wants to take you away,” said Shaw. Noticing the panic in Gen’s eyes, she added, “But I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“But he’s my father,” said Gen. “Doesn’t that mean he can do what he wants?”

“I told you,” said Shaw determinedly, “I’m not going to let that happen.”

She would do everything in her power to make sure that didn’t happen. Even if it meant killing him for real this time.

Sensing what she was thinking, Gen said, “Is that why you tried to kill him?”

Shaw sighed and took a seat next to Gen on the couch. She felt tired all of a sudden, her restless night of sleep finally catching up with her.

“Listen, kiddo,” she said carefully. “He’s not a nice guy. He’s dangerous and your mom knew that. She tried to protect you from it. From him.”

“Why?” said Gen. She was still staring at the TV, like the cartoons could somehow take her back to a simpler time. But, for Gen, there never really had been such a thing. Nothing had been simple. Whisked away to a foreign country to live with her grandfather at the age of seven, Gen might have had a few months before her grandfather died where life was easy. Where she could just be a kid. Shaw didn’t know much about what her life had been like before she had come to America, but she doubted it had been extravagant. Her mother taking menial jobs, hiding from the man she feared would take her child away, barely making ends meet. Life had been hard and now, to Gen, it probably seemed so much worse.

“Why would he hurt me?” asked Gen softly.

“I don’t know,” said Shaw. She glanced at Root, but she didn’t have an answer either. “But if he’s willing to hurt other people to get to you…” she added, thinking about Zoe, the gash on Root’s head. “Then I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

“Which is why Shaw’s taking you to the safe house,” said Root.

“I want to see Zoe,” said Gen adamantly.

“Maybe in a couple of days,” said Root. “But, for now… go get dressed.”

“You aren’t coming?”

Root chewed on her lip for a moment, avoiding Shaw’s gaze. “I’ll be over later. I promise.”

Later meant she could avoid spending time with Shaw. Shaw tried not to feel the sting of it, but it was there all the same.

“Okay,” said Gen, getting up from the couch and disappearing into Root’s bedroom to get dressed.

Now that they were alone, Shaw couldn’t find anything to say. An apology was on the tip of her tongue but she wasn’t even sure what she would be apologising for. Root was angry, understandably so, now that Gen was in even more danger than she had been before Shaw had conducted her little mission in Moscow. Shaw had no clue what she could do or say to make that go away.

“I should make her some breakfast,” said Root, climbing to her feet. “There’s probably nothing at the safe house.”

“It’s okay,” said Shaw, “we’ll pick something up on the way.”

But Root ignored her, _avoided_ her, and went into the kitchen, leaving Shaw sitting awkwardly in the middle of the living room with nothing but Spongebob Squarepants for company. She watched it for a few minutes, until the smell of toast filled the room and then stood up and turned it off.

Gen came back, dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. “I need my things,” she said.

“I’ll pick you up some stuff later,” Root promised, handing Gen a plate of toast. Gen took a slice and nibbled at the corner.

“No,” said Shaw. “I’ll go. They could still be watching the place.”

“I can handle myself,” said Root briskly.

“Root –”

“You should get going,” she said, taking the plate back, uncaring of the crumbs the fell down Gen’s front and onto the carpet.

“Promise me you’ll at least take someone with you,” said Shaw. “Fusco or someone.”

Root sighed and nodded. “Fine,” she said stiffly and Shaw wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not.

She nudged Gen in the direction of the door, but hesitated in her own footsteps. She didn’t want to leave things like this, with Root. When she had come back from Moscow, it was like she had been a different person in her own body. She understood, now, why Root had left without telling anyone, without taking anyone with her. Why she had to hunt down Jason on her own. She had been protecting them, just like Shaw was doing now. Except Root couldn’t see that. She was too angry and, really, Shaw didn’t have a leg to stand on to object to that.

“Root,” said Shaw, licking her lips briefly when Root stared down at the plate in her hands. She was painfully aware of Gen watching them closely, no doubt filing away every little detail for later. “What I said last night… I meant it.”

When Root didn’t respond, when she continued to stare down at her hands as if Shaw hadn’t said anything at all, Shaw sighed and gestured for Gen to move ahead of her out the door. Gen smiled shyly and waited until they were safely out in the hallway before she spoke.

“What did you say to her?”

“Hm,” said Shaw, taking Gen by the shoulder and leading her downstairs and out of the building.

“What did you say to Root last night?” Gen asked. It was the tone of voice she used whenever she wasn’t about to let something go; incessant and whiny. Shaw sighed, stepping outside and pulling Gen along with her. It was raining more furiously now and they hurried to Shaw’s car, jumping inside before their clothes became drenched.

Starting the engine, Shaw stared out of the window for a moment. The cop car was still across the street, watching them closely.

“Well?” said Gen impatiently.

Shaw smirked and shook her head, knowing that Gen would only keep nagging her until she gave her an answer.

“Not enough, kid,” she said. And didn’t know if anything she said ever would be.

*

Root hated hospitals. She always had, but nowadays most especially, and it was with an air of trepidation that she stepped through the electronic doors, sliding apart on her approach. She wasn’t even sure why she was here. All she knew was that she didn’t want to go to the safe house quite yet, didn’t want to face Shaw and her openness that Root didn’t know how to respond to. She wasn’t even sure if she was ready for it yet, if either of them were.

So she held onto anger instead, because that seemed like the easy, less complicated thing to do. And it was better than the worry eating away inside of her. Fear that the Russian’s would find Gen, that her father would take her away and there would be nothing any of them could do.

The Machine, breaching their mutual agreed silence, had told her all She could about Vadik Volkov. All the things he had done, the people he’d murdered and maimed to get to the position he was in now.

He was almost as bad as her. But, unlike her, Vadik Volkov hadn’t found a God, hadn’t reformed himself.

She liked to think she was better than him, because of this, but she couldn’t stop the little nagging voice in the back of her head that kept chanting over and over again to the contrary.

It didn’t take Root long to find the right room and she knocked hesitantly on the door.

“Up for some visitors?”

Zoe smiled, small and warm. Her skin was a little pale and dark, heavy clouds hung under her eyes, but apart from that she looked okay. Even in a hospital bed, Zoe Morgan had an air of elegance about her.

“I thought visiting hours weren’t until this afternoon,” said Zoe.

Root shrugged and ventured a little further inside. “I snuck past the charge nurse.”

There was a single chair in the room, by the left side of the bed, but Root didn’t feel like sitting. She listened to the steady beat of the monitor for a moment, watching the IV line pump saline into Zoe’s arm.

“How are you feeling?” Root asked.

“Bored out of my mind,” said Zoe with a smile that, Root suspected, was forced out of habit.

“They keeping you in here?” she asked, flinching slightly when the Machine reeled off Zoe’s medical records. She didn’t particular want to hear it in that great a detail. She thought Zoe deserved at least that much privacy.

“Just for another night,” Zoe explained. “My vitals are a little out of whack apparently.”

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No. Thanks,” she added. “John’s getting me stuff.”

Root nodded. Ever the dutiful John Reese. She wondered what Zoe had said to persuade him to leave her side for a few hours.

“He’s devastated,” Zoe said under her breath. She looked down at her hands and fiddled with the hospital bracelet on her wrist. “I’ve never seen him look so…lost.”

In the brightness of the sterile hospital room, Root suddenly wished she hadn’t come. She felt like a spectator in this conversation and didn’t know what to say. So she kept quiet and waited and hoped it was enough.

“And all I can feel,” said Zoe, jutting her chin slightly, “is relief. Is that normal?” she asked, glancing at Root as if she expected her to have all the answers.

Root shrugged and dared to take a step closer to the bed. “I think it’s… human,” she said eventually. “I think you’re allowed to feel what you feel and shouldn’t have to justify it against other people’s expectations.”

There was a hint of mild surprise to the way Zoe looked at her next. Root was surprised herself, at how far she had come.

“It’s the sympathy I can’t stand,” Zoe confessed. “From strangers. All the damn nurses. Every time they come in here it’s like they’re expecting me to burst into tears. I don’t do crying,” she said adamantly and Root smiled. Zoe sighed. “I can’t stand it in here.”

“You’ll be out and home soon enough,” Root assured her.

“Right,” said Zoe and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, there was no sign of her earlier frustration, only regret. “How’s Gen?”

“She’s okay,” said Root. “She’s tough. She wanted to come visit.”

Zoe smiled, but it quickly fell flat and there was that regret again. “It happened so quick,” she muttered. “I opened the door and he was already in. There was nothing I could do.”

“It’s okay,” said Root. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But Zoe, she knew, was going to shoulder the blame anyway. It was easier than the grief for a child she didn’t want, for the sadness she should be feeling and couldn’t find. Root remembered their visit to the clinic and wondered if it would have been better for everyone if she had never talked Zoe out of it. Then there wouldn’t be this guilt and sadness that seemed to shroud everyone like a cloak.

But it wasn’t until Root left Zoe’s room, saying goodbye and promising to see her soon, perhaps with Gen too if it was safe enough, that she realised the extent of the loss.

John Reese, carrying a bag bulging with Zoe’s stuff, looked exhausted and drained when Root ran into him in the hallway. It was the first time in a long time that she had seen him out of his standard suit and white shirt combo. He was dressed casually in jeans and a light blue polo shirt, his face covered in stubble. But it was his eyes that Root noticed first and struggled to turn her gaze from.

Zoe had said devastated, but Root wasn’t sure that one word could cover what John Reese was feeling.

There was a sentiment, an apology, on the tip of Root’s tongue. One, she knew, that would probably sound false and forced to both of them. So she kept her mouth shut as she watched him approach, watched as the nurses flashed him the sympathetic smiles that had so irked Zoe. She thought about all the derogatory nicknames she could throw his way, some more callous than others, but familiar enough to envelope them in a sense of normalcy. But she couldn’t bring herself to say any of them and, in the end, they ended up staring at each other for a long moment until Reese eventually nodded. A slight tilt of his head, brief, but speaking volumes all the same.

Gone was the hostility that he had been holding onto for so long. And she wished – they both wished – it hadn’t taken something so extreme, so permanent and unforgiving, for them to get here.

“Goodbye, John,” said Root and walked past him towards the elevator.

*

Root didn’t go to the safe house that evening like she wanted. When she stepped out of the hospital, the rain had stopped and the gun metal grey clouds had cleared, leaving blue sky and the sun shining cheerily down on the city. It was warmer than it usually was for a November day in New York City, but Root still shivered, feeling the hairs on the back of her head standing up on end. She glanced up and down the street, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched.

The Machine, always watching, always listening, was silent for now and Root was tempted to ask, to voice her paranoia. She didn’t though. Not because she was worried about what the Machine would think, more _afraid_ that she would be right.

So she headed home, forced herself to pretend it was nothing, but couldn’t ignore the feeling any longer when she turned the block onto her street. The squad car was long gone, having followed Shaw and Gen to the safe house to keep watch. In its place was a black SUV with tinted windows. Far too flashy for this neighbourhood.

Root merely glanced at it as she passed. She couldn’t see inside but she could _feel_ its occupants watching her and as she walked up to her building, another car – again far too expensive to belong to anyone around here – drove down the street from the direction she had come. She tried to think back to the hospital, when she had first stepped outside, but she couldn’t remember seeing that particular car there. She also couldn’t remember seeing anyone when she left the apartment earlier and she cursed her lack of vigilance. How long had they been watching her? All night? Had they been here when Shaw had come to collect Gen?

She felt a sudden fear seize her heart and headed inside, up to the apartment where she locked the door behind her. Heading for her bedroom, Root checked with the Machine that Gen was still safe and sound in the safe house and let out a sigh of relief when the Machine confirmed it. Reassured, but still feeling on edge, Root took her gun out of the nightstand and tucked it into her waistband where it would be within easy reach. She wasn’t expecting a visit from her Russian stalkers, but she wasn’t about to take any chances.

Most of her afternoon was spent glancing out the window and watching the street. The SUV was long gone, but only because Root suspected they knew she had spotted them upon coming home.  There was only so much of the street she could see. They could have just moved a little further up the block, still within sight of her building. Watching and waiting.

She wondered if the others were being watched too. Zoe and John in the hospital, Harold in the library. How long would Volkov being willing to wait before he grew impatient and went after one of them for information on Gen?

From what the Machine had told her, Volkov was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. He wouldn’t play this surveillance game for long. It was only a matter of time before he made another move. And Root didn’t know how well they would be able to protect Gen next time.

It had grown dark when Shaw called and Root jumped at the sound of her phone ringing in the gloomy quiet of her apartment. She’d been sitting in the same spot for hours, worrying at her bottom lip and now she was glad for the excuse to move. She just wished it was under different circumstances.

“Is Gen with you?” Shaw asked. Something about her voice was hurried, impatient. _Worried_. Root felt the blood in her veins turn to ice and wondered if she would ever be warm again.

“She isn’t at the safe house?” said Root, marvelling at how calm her voice sounded. But, then again, she wasn’t even sure if it sounded like hers to begin with.

“No,” said Shaw.

“They took her?” said Root. She already had her jacket in one hand, her gun cold and heavy at her back where it still sat in her waistband. She was ready for a fight. More ready than she’d ever been.

“No,” said Shaw. She sighed loudly. “I think she took off. Her stuff’s gone. I think she went down the fire escape.”

Root closed her eyes, struggling to think where Gen would have gone. There was only a handful of places. Places where the Russian’s would be waiting and watching.

“We have to find her,” said Root.

“I already checked John and Zoe’s place,” said Shaw. “There was no sign of her and Harold said she’s not at the library.”

“What about where she used to live?” said Root. “With her grandfather?”

“I’m on my way there now,” said Shaw. “Root –”

“Wait,” said Root suddenly, freezing in the doorway as the Machine spoke through her implant. Root listened carefully, silently cursing the Machine for not telling them sooner that Gen had run away. “She’s at Penn Station.”

“You’re sure?” said Shaw.

“The Machine’s sure,” said Root. “I’ll meet you there,” she added before hanging up, before Shaw could tell her to stay put.

Stepping outside, Root automatically glanced up and down the street. The black SUV was down the other end of the block and when Root stepped out from the shadows of her building, its headlights switched on.

“A little help,” Root muttered under her breath and listened as the Machine relayed directions in her ear. Root followed them carefully, ducking down side streets and narrow alleys where the large SUV wouldn’t be able to follow. She kept her pace slow at first, but as soon as she was out of their sight, she quickened her step until she was on a busy road with a yellow taxi cab parked and waiting for her.

“Thank you,” Root said under her breath and got into the back, telling the driver to get her to Penn Station. She glanced behind them as he drove, fairly confident that she wasn’t being followed.

When they reached Penn Station, Root paid him and hurried out of the cab, uncaring about her change.

“Root?” said Shaw, the Machine connecting her through Root’s implant. “You here yet?”

“I’m at the 8th Avenue entrance,” said Root. As with all times of day, the station was swarming with people. Root struggled to see through the crowd, couldn’t spot any signs of blonde curly hair. “Do you have her?”

“No,” said Shaw.

“How could you lose her?” said Root heatedly. She had kept her worry, her anger, at bay in her haste to get here. Now there was nothing holding it back. “Why the hell weren’t you watching her?”

“How was I supposed to know she would climb out the window?” Shaw snapped back. “Look,” she said a few moments later, sighing loudly. “Let’s just find her, okay? We can talk about this later.”

“Fine,” said Root coolly.

“I’ll check the ticket office,” said Shaw. “Head for the platforms.”

“Okay,” said Root. Seeing no point in arguing any further, Root headed where Shaw had suggested, towards the numerous platforms swarming with commuters. You couldn’t find a clown dressed in bright, rainbow colours in this crowd. Which meant you could get lost in it. Or someone could tail you without being noticed. Root shivered and reminded herself she had lost her Russian shadow long ago.

By herself, she would never have found Gen. The Machine said a platform number in her ear and Root headed straight for it, spotting a lonely figure alone on a wooden bench beneath the display boards. Root let out a sigh of relief and took a seat next to Gen without a word.

The girl was quiet, her head dipped low as she clutched a train ticket in her hand, her backpack at her feet. Root leaned over slightly and glanced at the ticket.

“What’s in Hoboken?”

Gen shrugged. “Nothing,” she muttered. “It was the cheapest ticket they had. I didn’t want to spend all my money too soon.”

“Ah,” said Root like she had just uncovered some big secret. “And what are you going to do once you get there?”

Again, Gen shrugged. “I don’t know. Get a job, I guess.”

“Oh?” said Root. “What if no one _wants_ to give a thirteen year old a job?”

“Then I’ll steal to get by,” said Gen determinedly, like this was all one little part of her grand plan.

“Life of crime, huh?” said Root.

“It’s better than staying here,” said Gen, gripping her ticket more tightly until it started to crease a bit in the middle. “If I stay, people are just going to get hurt because of me.”

“Gen…” said Root and didn’t know what else to say that could wipe the despair away from Gen’s face.

“It was my fault what happened to Zoe.”

“No, sweetie,” said Root, daring to reach a hand out to brush the hair away from Gen’s face, “it wasn’t.” Her jaw jutted out like she was struggling not to cry and Root wanted nothing more than to pull her into her arms and tell her everything was going to be alright.

“It was mine.”

Root glanced up, finding Shaw hovering behind the bench. Her face was its usual stoic mask, but her eyes… her eyes conveyed everything. Root could see the guilt shining in them, so rare for someone like Shaw. She swallowed thickly, taking a seat on the other side of Gen before speaking again.

“I screwed up, kiddo,” she said, staring across the platform and the train to Hoboken that was now calling its passengers aboard. “ _I_ put you in danger.”

It was a hard thing for Shaw to admit, Root knew. She didn’t bear failure easily. Yet, here she was, confessing everything.

“But running away…” Shaw continued and glanced across at Root. Shaw’s gaze bore into her, painful and steady and Root found she couldn’t look away.

“Isn’t always the best answer,” Root finished. “Even if you are trying to protect someone.”

It was what they had both done. They had both run off; Root after Jason and Shaw after Gen’s father, determined to protect those left behind. In the end, they had only really succeeded in hurting each other instead. And now, once again, Gen was caught in the middle. In real, imminent danger this time. Root had no doubt Shaw would to everything to protect her and Root herself would do the same. But there was only two of them, up against an army of angry Russians. Root wasn’t sure that they could, that they would be enough. They could hold them off, but not for long. Like fire fighters quenching a forest fire, they could douse one inferno only for another to spring up further down the road.

She didn’t think anywhere was safe, not even the library, not any more. And this uncertainty, the not knowing when danger would strike, wasn’t the life Gen deserved. It wasn’t what any of them deserved.

But what that was, Root wasn’t sure.

“You should go,” said Shaw after a long silence. Gen squirmed between them, looking at Shaw curiously and Root followed her gaze, watching as Shaw stared out towards the platform. “Both of you. It isn’t safe in New York. Not anymore.”

“Shaw –” Root began.

“I can’t protect either of you here.”

“Where would we even go?” said Root sceptically. But she knew Shaw was right. It wasn’t safe here. It never would be as long as Gen’s father was still alive.

Shaw shrugged. “Somewhere far away. Somewhere where he can’t find you.”

“But…” said Gen. “You aren’t coming?”

Jaw tightening, Shaw said nothing.

_No_ , she wasn’t coming, Root realised. She was staying here to clean up her mess. To do the thing she had set out to do in Moscow. To finish what she had started.

Buzzing sounded in her ear; the Machine giving her instructions and Root got up from the bench, telling the other two she would be right back. The Machine directed her to one of the electronic ticket machines and as Root approached, it spat out two tickets. Root picked them up, staring at the destination and departure time. They were heading south for now, their train leaving in ten minutes.

Root felt her muscles tense, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She had delved into the unknown for the Machine countless times before, heedless of her own safety and convinced the Machine knew what She was doing.

But this time, Root wouldn’t be alone. She would have someone to care for, to protect. And she wasn’t sure if she could do it. Wasn’t sure she could be what Gen needed her to be as they hid for who knew how long.

When Root returned to the bench, she found Gen staring at her expectantly, trustingly. And Shaw…

“I don’t –” Root began, unsure what she wanted to say, what she was feeling. Had it really been only a couple of days ago that they’d kissed in Shaw’s kitchen? The giddy excitement pumping through her that Shaw always seemed to elicit just by being close. Just by being Shaw.

“It’s okay,” said Shaw. She looked like she didn’t know what to say either and, in the end, neither of them said anything at all. Shaw said goodbye to Gen and walked them to their platform, watched as they got on the train and didn’t move until it had travelled out of the station, far out of sight.

It was a three hour ride until Washington, DC. Gen said nothing the entire time and when they got off the train, Root listened to the Machine’s instructions. One hand on Gen’s shoulder, Root kept her close as they got into a cab that took them to the airport where, once again, the Machine had everything ready for them. Two plane tickets. Their flight leaving in thirty minutes.

Root glanced at the destination and said nothing, her feet moving automatically, going where the Machine guided her.

She should have known, really, that she would have ended up back there in the end. She couldn’t really hide from it anymore.

A four hour flight where Gen spent most of it asleep, Root found herself filled with too much nervous energy to close her eyes. If she did, they would only get there sooner. Awake, she could fight it for longer. But, ultimately, they landed in Corpus Christi, and Root didn’t need the Machine to tell her where they were going next as she guided Gen to a waiting bus. She supposed, now that she thought about it, that the Machine had been trying to get her here all along.

The bus was hot and stifling, but the short thirty minute journey was nothing like the hellish heat of Bishop, Texas when they alighted from the bus.

Sam Groves was home and, as she looked around at the crumbling buildings and dust covered streets, it was almost like she had never left.


	25. Part 3: Chapter 25

_Three months later…. Bishop, Texas_

There was something almost malicious about the way the heat seemed to settle in Bishop during the winter months. It was only February and yet, on most days, Root had all of the windows open on the ground floor, desperate for the smallest of breezes to pass their way. During the years she had grown up here, she couldn’t remember ever experiencing a winter as hot as this one. She wondered if it was a sign of things to come and shivered, not because of the breeze she was hoping for, but for other reasons she was too afraid to think about.

The town was as stagnant as ever and Root marvelled every day over how little had changed. The same beaten up shops and crumbling houses from when she was a kid and even the graffiti covered walls were the same. The people too, older now but still the same narrow mindedness prevailed and passed on to the next generation. Now she no longer had the innocence of youth to shield her from it. She had seen and done so many things since leaving Bishop that she could hardly believe she had survived here the first time around.

If Root had her way, they would never leave the house. A two bedroom in the good side of town. The type of house Sam Groves used to dream about living in. From her child’s eyes, the place would have looked massive, like a mansion, but in reality it wasn’t that big. Root had squatted in larger apartments in New York. But it had a yard - not that they ever really used it - and the neighbours kept to themselves. Something that was rare for Bishop indeed.

The Machine had chosen well and had set them up with a believable cover. Samantha Groves, tired from the fast paced city life in New York had come home to raise her “daughter”. Root could almost laugh at the surprised looks she received whenever she relayed their story to the few people - still surprisingly a lot - who recognised her and dared to approach her. But that was the thing about small towns. People got so bored that nosing into other people’s business was the only thing to do.

It was because of this that Root couldn’t lock them away in the house and never leave. There were expectations and if Root didn’t follow them, then people - the _wrong_ people - would only start snooping deeper. And Root couldn’t risk that happening. Couldn’t risk being found.

There was a role they both had to play and the longer they kept at it, the harder Root found it be.

For Gen, it was easy. She missed New York and Shaw and everyone else, but Root couldn’t deny she knew how to keep her head down and stay out of sight when she wanted to. Even if the newness of her sparked curiosity amongst her peers and had them whispering behind her back. School, even though Root suspected Gen hated it, was something she was good at. And not just the academic side of things. In the last three months, she had gotten good at navigating her way through the hormonal cesspit of moody and cruel teenagers. She got by. She survived, even if she did look miserable when she thought Root wasn’t looking her way.

But Root was always looking. This place was eating away at both of them and hiding it had become their number one skill.

Unlike Gen, Root didn’t have a regular schedule to keep. Her cover was freelance computer work that she could do from home, but in reality she didn’t do much of anything. Sometimes she would carry on with the work she started with Harold, but without him there to consult and phone calls restricted in case the Russians were listening, Root didn’t get very far beyond tinkering with what she had already done.

Despite this lack of regular routine, Root still forced herself to get up at seven every morning when she would rather stay in bed all day and wallow in self-pity. But Gen needed her, she would remind herself, over and over again until the mornings became easier and waking up didn’t feel quite so much like she was fighting against treacle, sticking her eyes shut with exhaustion.

Root would drive Gen to school every morning and at exactly 3pm every day, would be parked outside the school building waiting to pick her up. _That_ was her routine. It was mundane, and perhaps a little unnecessary, but Root felt more at ease for it all the same.

After three months of this, trapped in their Machine made prison with no end in sight, Root didn’t find it easier. Didn’t get used to it or come to accept her fate. But she understood the reality of her situation and, in protest despite this, refused to acknowledge the Machine.

It was easier, in way, to let go of everything from her life as Root. If she didn’t, Root didn’t know how she would cope with the constant daily reminder in her ear. Perhaps the Machine understood that, how difficult it was for Root here, for she kept her silence. But Root knew She was watching, like always, waiting and willing to protect them.

Root’s bedroom faced the front of the house and always caught the early morning sunlight. The brightness of it stirred her from sleep far better than any alarm and the sun always rose early in Texas. It wasn’t quite burning as it shone through her window, but Root knew it was going to be one of those days where the air shimmered with heat that seemed to stick to everything.

A cool shower, Root found, was the fastest way to wake herself up properly. On her way to the bathroom, she knocked on Gen’s door, stirring the silence within. Most days, getting Gen up for school could be as difficult as it was for Root get up herself and today was no exception. By the time Root came out of the shower, there was still no sign of her and she knocked again on her door, only this time more loudly. The only indication that she had been heard was the loud thud through the door. Either Gen had stomped to her feet or her alarm clock had made a devastating trip across the room.

Root decided to go get dressed, giving Gen ten more minutes to get up by herself before she went in there and physically dragged her out of bed. But it wasn’t necessary. By the time Root emerged from her bedroom, now fully dressed, Gen’s door was wide open and she could hear the sound of the shower going. Now she just had to hope Gen wouldn’t spend all morning in there.

They had never quite managed to find a morning routine that worked for them and more often than not, Gen would be late for school or Root would pull up outside the building just as the bell sounded and Gen would have to rush inside hoping no one noticed her tardiness.

Today was going to be one of those late days, Root suspected as she headed down the stairs. Gen would probably be a while going by previous experience, giving Root more than enough time to prepare breakfast and Gen’s packed lunch. Nothing fancy, unless you counted putting Poptarts in the toaster and spreading peanut butter on two slices of bread. It was the best that Root could do. Her attempts at something more extravagant had all been a disaster lately.

Cooking had never been Root’s strong point, despite having done most of it when she first lived in Bishop. But years spent moving around with no fixed abode, eating takeout most nights, had put her out of practice. They had been in Bishop barely a week, several days of Root burning food to pots and smoke coming out of the oven with Gen looking on dubiously, when Root gave up cooking entirely. So they had resorted to sandwiches and takeout from the only two places that actually delivered to Bishop. She could probably have learned, with some practice, how to cook something basic. But the energy that would take, the effort, wasn’t something Root had been able to find in the three months they had been there.

Bishop was sucking her dry and Root didn’t know how to stop it.

Her movements were slower than usual. It felt, these days, like it took her twice as long to do things that she used to find easy. Things like showering and getting dressed, making food and swallowing pills down her dry throat. It felt less like swallowing and more like forcing a razor blade through an impenetrable wall.

“What are those for?”

Root froze, putting the cap back on the pill bottle and hiding it away in her pocket.

“I just have a headache,” said Root, retrieving Gen’s Poptarts from the toaster and using it as an excuse to avoid Gen’s narrowed eyes.

“That’s not what they’re for,” Gen said knowingly. “I’ve seen you take them most mornings.”

 _Of course she had_ , Root thought. There were no secrets in this place. Nowhere to hide.

“If I told you they were just vitamins,” Root asked, “would you believe me?”

“No,” said Gen, taking a bite out of the corner of a Poptart. “I’m not stupid. You used to take them before.”

And _of course_ she had noticed that too.

Root pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing through the lie she was so tempted to tell. She didn't want to talk about this, didn’t want to think about it. _Ever._ And as much as she would have liked to ignore it, she couldn’t.

Not anymore.

“I’m okay, kiddo,” she lied and, for a moment, even let the lie convince herself. “Come on, you’re going to be late for school.”

She wasn’t, for once, Root was surprised to notice, but she had somewhere to be this morning and the sooner she got it over with the better.

Gen took her Poptart out to the car with her, blinking against the morning sun as Root grabbed up her backpack and lunch. The local school was only about a five minute drive away - barely a twenty minute walk that, at a push, Gen could walk by herself and still make it to school on time. But the thought of it, of Gen wandering about this seemingly innocuous town on her own, sent a chill down Root’s spine, seized at her heart like it was trapped in between the sharp claws of a monster.

“Don’t get crumbs all over the car,” Root scolded.

“I’m not,” Gen said as she snapped her Poptart in two, sending crumbs down onto her lap. Root rolled her eyes, knowing they would only end up everywhere once Gen got out of the car.

“I’ll pick you up at three,” Root said as she pulled up outside of the school.

“I _know_ ,” said Gen haughtily. “Just like every other day. I don’t see why I can’t just walk by myself. Everyone else does.”

Root sighed. “We’ve been over this. It’s not safe.”

Gen scowled, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Nobody even knows we’re here. I used to walk to school by myself all the time in New York. It’s no big deal.”

“Gen,” said Root tiredly. “It’s not up for discussion.”

Because if they discussed it, then Root would have no choice about voicing her fears. About how this town was so much worse, more dangerous, than a thousand angry Bratva men.

“Fine,” Gen mumbled, storming out of the car without another word. Root watched her go, waiting until she was safe inside the school building before she turned the engine off and got out of the car too.

Kids were still making their way inside the building, the bell sounding loud even from across the street. As with everything in Bishop, the street was bare and desolate. On one side of the road was Luehrs Junior High, Bishop High right next to it. The few buildings opposite still in use were more like shacks, in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint decades ago. Root couldn’t remember if it had been this bad when she was a kid. Back then, maybe she had just been used to it. Indifferent. Now Root couldn’t stop seeing it. She forced herself to look away, avoiding the glare of the buildings, just like she would avoid the gaze of passers-by. Small talk was like a disease in small towns and Root tried to steer clear of it as much as possible.

She passed the Mexican place at the end of the street - probably the nicest building in the entire town and the food wasn’t bad either - and crossed Highway 77 towards Bishop’s only cemetery, just a few minutes’ walk away from the school. Technically, it wasn’t even within the town’s limits, but everyone referred to it as Bishop’s cemetery all the same. Root wasn’t sure if they had built the school so close out of a sense of irony or inevitability. Either way, most people in Bishop would end up in the cemetery eventually. Root, after she had left the first time, had vowed never to end up there. Now, stuck here against her will, it seemed more and more likely.

The cemetery looked just as she remembered it. Tombstones sticking out of the ground like overgrown teeth; weeds and brambles covering them like the symptom of a disease. She was surprised to find that she could still find it. The path felt unfamiliar under her feet, but Root found the right one quicker than she had been expecting.

_Irene Groves_

_07/18/1961 - 02/14/2001_

She should have brought flowers, Root realised too late. Lilies were always her mother’s favourite. The white ones Sam had saved up and bought her for mother’s day one year had sat in the centre of their kitchen table for weeks, her mother admiring them at every opportunity until, drooping and sad, her mother had declared them dead and tossed the out into the yard.

Sam hadn’t been able to afford any again. Root could, however, and she felt guilty she hadn’t had the foresight before she came here.

Sinking to her knees, Root cleared away some of the leaves and weeds from her mother’s unattended grave. On the anniversary of her death, Root felt like she should say something. Only she didn’t know what. Something profound, an apology, maybe, for all the things she had done that, in her lucid states, her mother would have been horrified at. An explanation, perhaps, of how she had changed her ways and found God (although most definitely not one Irene Groves would ever have approved of) and, after so many years of isolation by her own choice, how she had learned to love again and value life.

There was so much she could say, but Root didn’t say anything at all. She was afraid. If she spoke in this silent place, the dead ready and waiting to listen to all of her secrets, Root didn’t know if she would be able to stop. That everything she had kept close and hidden for so long would be revealed to the world. That, out loud, voiced by her own mouth, it would become real.

Except it was already real. There wasn’t anything Root could do about that beyond ignoring it and pretending that everything was okay. That this town, everyone she had hurt and killed, everything that had followed after she had found the Machine… she could pretend, for a little while, that none of it was real. She could pretend that it had been someone else.

She could be Sam Groves again. Nothing was perfect, nothing was safe and she hadn’t been innocent or naive, but she had been _young_ , a hundred paths before her. Some of them led to Root and all the horrible things she had done. And, some of them, led to nothing more than the life of the mundane that afflicted most of Bishop’s residents. And, in the end, there would be a grave with her name on it next to her mother’s.

But she was Root and always would be. She couldn’t run away from it. She could do nothing but accept the responsibility of all that she had done, put it on her shoulders and hope that she could carry the weight of it. She had to accept her fate knowing that, in many ways, it was what she deserved.

Root wasn’t sure how long she sat there. Long enough for her knees to grow sore and the morning sun to turn hot and cruel as it broke through the clouds overhead.

It was time to leave. She had done her duty, one she would have gladly neglected had she been anywhere else but here. Root stood on shaky legs, stinging from pins and needles and stumbled her way back to the path. If it hadn’t been so quiet here, she probably would never have noticed, never have heard the twig snapping behind her. It echoed along her cochlear implant, causing her heart to beat wildly as she tried to find the source of the threat.

Except it wasn't a threat.

It was Gen.

Instead of the relief she should be feeling knowing they hadn’t just been tracked down by the Bratva, Root’s fear dissipated into anger.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice came out louder than intended, it was more of a yell than a question. Gen flinched from behind the tree she was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide behind. “Why the hell aren’t you in school?”

“I don’t -” Gen began. She looked more terrified than Root had ever seen her; eyes wide and face pale. This was the first time Root had ever raised her voice at her, had ever been truly _angry_ and letting it show. But she couldn’t seem to stop it as her hands tightened into fists at her sides and her nostrils flared.

“I was just-” Gen tried to explain.

“Get out of here,” Root ordered, her voice sounding shrill amongst the quiet of the dead. But she couldn’t let Gen see. This place wasn’t for her eyes.

Gen didn’t need telling twice and it wasn’t until she had turned on her heel and began running in the opposite direction back towards the school, that Root realised how hysterical she must have sounded. How _crazy_.

Her anger seemed to leave her as Gen disappeared out of sight and Root sighed, closing her eyes briefly and wishing she could take the last thirty seconds back.

*

As promised, as was their routine, Root was waiting for Gen outside her school at exactly 3pm. Most of the kids from Bishop would walk home, but those from neighbouring towns either got picked up like Gen or got the school bus. It left the usual quiet street swarming with people and Root always got worried there would be someone hiding in the shadows, waiting and watching for Gen.

Gen was usually fairly quick at leaving the building, but that afternoon Root was there for a good ten minutes waiting for her. Long enough for the road to clear and most of the kids to disappear off home. She tried not to worry, but her first instinct was that something had happened to Gen after she had ran away from the cemetery that morning.

But the Machine would have told her, right? Despite the radio silence, the Machine wouldn't have let her down. Not about this.

Ten minutes, in the grand scheme of things, was nothing and by the time Gen strolled outside, chatting to some kid Root had never seen before, she felt her worry disappear and that familiar anger from earlier take hold. She didn’t know if it was because it was this particular day and everything it stood for with her memories flooding, unwanted, to the forefront of her mind, but being angry was liberating in a way. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, not taking her eyes from Gen as she walked towards the car.

She got in, slamming the door shut behind her. Root bit the inside of her cheek and loosened her grip.

“You’re late,” she said. Gen shrugged, staring out of the passenger window like she wished for all the world that she was alone. “Who’s your friend?” Root asked. The kid she had been talking to was still hovering at the bottom of the school steps.

“She’s not my friend,” Gen said sullenly. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Gen,” said Root.

“Can we just go,” Gen interrupted. “I need to get to the library before it closes.”

“Again?” said Root. As usual, whenever Gen mentioned an excursion to the library, her heart sped up.

“I need them to know I’m serious about my petition,” Gen explained tiredly, like she had said this already a thousand times.

Root frowned. “What petition?”

“I told you,” said Gen, scowling now. “To get some comic books. They don’t have any.”

 _Right_ , Root thought. Gen had mentioned it. More than once. But with this day looming, with everything else going on, Root had completely forgotten about it.

“So, can we go?” Gen asked.

Her first instinct was to say no, to get Gen home safe as quickly as possible. Already she could anticipate the inevitable argument that would follow, the cold shoulder she would have to suffer for the foreseeable future. Had they been back in New York, it would have been bearable, but not out here, on their own with the whole world against them. So she took Gen to the library and tried to ignore all the irrational fears she had about why it wasn’t a good idea.

They had come to Bishop with the clothes on their backs and what little supplies Gen had packed into her backpack for running away on her own. She had been sensible and left trivial things like comics behind. Upon coming here and realising this was it, this was for the long haul, neither of them knowing for how long exactly, Gen’s first concern, although perhaps not the most immediate, had been her regular supply of comics. But Bishop was a small town, the only store a small grocers that stalked most things you could imagine, apart from, unsurprisingly, the comic books Gen so greatly desired.

Her next best hope had been the library, but even Root knew from experience that it was unlikely she would find any there. Bishop wasn’t the sort of town that had things like comics. They were conservative and reserved and Root really shouldn't have been surprised nothing had changed in the last fifteen years.

The library hadn’t much either. The books were the same old worn copies that were on the shelves when Root was a kid. The computers may as well have been from that decade too. The only thing different was the librarian. Barbara Russell had moved away three years ago after the scandal about the dead body of a fourteen year old girl beneath her patio. The shame of it had drove her away and Root was just glad that she didn’t have to look the woman whose husband she’d had killed in the eye every single day.

Not that, even reformed, Root regretted it one bit.

“Five minutes,” Root said when she parked in library’s small parking lot. “Or I’m coming in to get you.”

“Whatever,” Gen muttered, opening the passenger door.

“I mean it,” said Root. Although they both knew she didn’t. Root hadn’t been able to bring herself to go inside in the entire three months they had been here.

“ _Okay_ ,” said Gen through tightly gritted teeth before slamming the door shut. The force of it vibrated through the car, shaking Root’s body, although she thought that, maybe, something else could have been causing that too.

She didn’t even have to go inside for the memories to surface. Clear and sharp, like it had only been yesterday, Root could remember being Sam, hovering over a shoulder and watching the horrible pixelated game of Oregon Trail. Closing her eyes, she could remember every detail of the last book Hanna Frey would ever check out of the library: the creased spine and folded corners. She could remember the door closing, one last time, that inkling that something _wasn’t quite right_ as Sam watched Hanna get into a blue car.

She could remember how no one cared, no one believed her and had the sudden urge to go inside and drag Gen back out _right now_.

It had only been three minutes but, to Root, dissociated by her memories, it felt like a lifetime by the time Gen remerged. She was absolutely fine - _of course she was_ \- but Root’s heart refused to still and she gripped the steering wheel, not out of anger this time, but because her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Gen got into the car in a worse mood than before and Root was just glad it meant she was oblivious to the heavy rise and fall of Root’s chest, the shaky breaths that left her mouth. She felt sick and hot and quickly turned the engine back on and turned the AC on high, forcing herself to calm down.

“How’d it go?” she said, trying to sound normal.

Gen shrugged. “They said I don’t have enough names yet.”

“Well, you’ll get more,” Root reassured her.

“From who?” said Gen. “Everyone in this town is boring and stupid.”

Root bit back a smile and couldn’t disagree.

*

When they got home, Gen immediately disappeared upstairs to her bedroom. The door slammed shut, reverberating throughout the house and making Root wince. The strop was inevitable after everything that had happened today, but Root still wished that things could be different. That Gen could be happy here even if Root herself never could. The longer they remained here, the worse it became and Root knew it wasn’t likely to get any better.

It hadn’t when she was younger. After Hanna disappeared and Root enacted her revenge against Trent Russell, she thought things here would have been different. But just because one man got the justice he deserved, no one else changed for it. Her mother, the people of this town, they all stayed the same small minded, judgemental people that they were. They still didn’t care.

And after fifteen years, nothing was different.

Root could avoid the people of this town as much as possible, but she could still tell, could still feel their curious, ready to judge eyes on her and Gen. She couldn’t shield Gen from that no matter how hard she tried; keeping her locked up in the house and never letting her go off by herself. It was controlling and the last thing Root wanted to do, but what choice did she really have?

It wasn’t safe here. From the Russian Bratva it was, yes, but not from the rest of humanity.

Not from her.

Root didn’t see Gen for the rest of the afternoon, heard no sound emanating from her bedroom. The house was still as death, much like the graveyard Root had visited that morning. It sent a shiver down her spine as she pretended to work on her laptop but she couldn’t concentrate on much of anything. Not today.

So she left Gen to her sulking, knowing she would only make things worse if she tried to intervene too soon. Root had learned from experience how hot Gen’s temper could be, that she needed plenty of time to cool off by herself or it would only get worse.

Food seemed like a good incentive and was the best peace offering Root had on hand. She ordered their usual from the Chinese place over in Robstown and waited until it had arrived before calling Gen downstairs.

“Takeout?” said Gen sullenly, taking a seat at the kitchen table opposite Root. “ _Again_?”

“Would you rather I cooked?” said Root, offering Gen a choice between chopsticks or a fork. She opted for a fork and glared down at her plate.

“No,” Gen replied. “Well, maybe. Shaw always used to cook.”

“Well Shaw’s not here,” Root snapped and regretted it instantly. But her temper always flared these days whenever Shaw was mentioned. She didn’t want to think or talk about Shaw.

Gen stared down at her food, using her fork to play around with it and not really eating anything. Root sighed, putting her own food down. She had lost her appetite too, the smell of orange chicken filling her nose and leaving her feeling nauseous.

“I’m sorry,” Root said quietly. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Gen shrugged. “You’ve been doing it a lot lately.”

“I know,” said Root, thinking about the incident this morning, how angry she had been to find Gen watching her in the cemetery. “But you can’t go skipping school. We have a cover to maintain.”

“I know that,” said Gen. “I was just…”

“What?” asked Root.

Gen bit her lip and avoided Root’s question by taking a mouthful of noodles. They slurped messily into her mouth, leaving sauce dribbling down her chin which she wiped away with the back of her hand.

“I was just worried about you,” she mumbled after she had finished chewing, so quietly that Root almost missed it.

“You don’t have to worry about me, kiddo,” said Root, surprised. She felt an odd tightening to her chest and found she could only stare down at her plate.

“Yes I do,” said Gen adamantly. “It’s just you and me here. If we don’t look out for each other… no one else is going to.”

Root smiled. She had a point. “That’s sweet, but I’m okay.”

The lie tasted bitter in her throat and she could tell by the way Gen frowned that she didn’t believe her. But she didn’t push her on it either and went back to eating her food. Root took a few more bites, forcing the chicken down her throat. It tasted like rubber and she felt sick with every mouthful but forced it down anyway, knowing that Gen was studying her like a hawk.

“I promise I won’t skip school again,” Gen said a few minutes later.

“Good,” said Root. “You know I don’t like you wandering about by yourself.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Gen. She bit her lip again, food forgotten as she stared at Root.

“What?” said Root.

“Who was it?” Gen asked. “The person’s grave you were visiting?”

Root glanced away and finally pushed the plate away from her, not caring about how little she had ate and that Gen was likely to notice.

“It’s okay,” Gen said quickly. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

“It was my mom,” said Root. She glanced down at the table and traced the tips of her finger along the ingrains of wood. “She died today.”

“Oh,” said Gen and Root wondered what answer she had been expecting. “Were you young?”

“No,” said Root and clasped her hands together in her lap.

“Was she… was she a good mom?”

“Sometimes,” said Root, smiling fondly at the memory their first Christmas shrub, her mother’s exclamation of joy over white lilies on mother’s day. Those late nights where they would stay up talking until the sun rose, her mother telling her tales that Sam Groves, young and still clueless of the world, had believed.

“Only sometimes?” said Gen, like she found this hard to believe.

“She was… sick,” Root explained. “Not every day was a good day.”

“Sick like you are?” Gen asked and Root shook her head, the mention of it making her heart beat faster like it knew they were talking about it.

“No,” said Root. “Something different… it made her…” Root sighed. “It made life hard.”

She tried not to think about the hard days anymore. Even back then, she breezed through every day like it was a good one, through shouts and screams and plates thrown at her. And when she finally left Bishop, when it was over, she never thought about them again. She didn’t have to. She was Root, she had her work and thinking about the past, thinking about Sam Groves, didn’t have a place in her life.

Even after she found the Machine, found _God_ , Root didn’t think about her mother much. She couldn’t remember exactly when it had happened, when the walls crumbled around Bishop and she couldn’t get it out of her head.

“At least she was here,” said Gen. Root glanced at her, surprised by the sadness in her voice. “My mom isn’t.”

“She would be if she could,” Root said. She thought about the cold, hard woman in a prison jumpsuit sitting across from her and wondered if that was true.

Gen shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

But Root thought it might matter more than anything else in the world.

“Gen,” said Root before she even knew what else to say. She wasn’t sure there were words comforting enough to wipe the sadness away from Gen’s face.

“I’m going to go finish my homework.”

The chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor as Gen stood up.

“Hey,” said Root, before she could disappear. “How about we head up to Corpus Christi this weekend? They have a bookstore. Maybe even some comics.”

“Really?” said Gen, her face brightening up instantly. Root couldn’t tell how much of it was for show and nodded even as she wondered if the Machine would have objected had they still been on speaking terms. She still might, but one afternoon couldn’t harm anyone if they were careful. “You’re the best,” Gen exclaimed and wrapped her arms around Root’s neck.

Startled, Root barely had time to hug her back. Her arms were slack around Gen’s waist but she wanted to pull her in tight and never let go. Wanted to say a thousand apologies for them being stuck here. Wanted to explain, as best she could, everything that had happened and everything that could - _would -_ in the end.

But she didn’t say anything; the tight lump in her throat made words difficult and hindered her ability to swallow. Gen let her go and disappeared upstairs with more of a spring in her step. She wasn’t back to her old self, the person she had been before Bishop, before everything with her father and her mother came out. Root just hoped that she would be one day and that she would be there to see it.

Her appetite wasn’t quite back yet but at least she didn’t feel sick anymore and Root cleared the remains of their dinner away, thankful that this awful day was almost over and she wouldn’t have to think about her mother for another year.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. Bishop wouldn’t allow it. There was nowhere for Root to hide out here. No noise and bustling streets to keep her occupied, to fill the void that Bishop had left her with the first time she had been here.

She hated it here and this time there was no escape from it. She was stuck, _trapped_ , forever in this hell.

Root felt sick again. Felt like someone had torn the stomach out of her. There was a looming sense of dread that made her head spin and she gripped the counter’s edge in fear that she would pass out and fall. The air struggled to reach her lungs, leaving her breaths shallow and uneven, a sharp pain in her chest. Water filled her eyes; the tears she had refused to shed in the last three months so desperate to fall now.

Her ears buzzed from the rush of blood in her veins and Root thought for one wild moment that her heart was going to burst out of her chest.

She hadn’t took her afternoon meds, she realised, and was too afraid to move and get them now. She didn’t think she would make it. She thought her legs, her whole body, would fail her before she could.

But as quickly as it had started it passed. She could breathe easily again and the thumping in her chest calmed.

The tears didn’t stop, however, and her cheeks remained wet and salty no matter how many times Root tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

She stayed there like that, crying alone in a kitchen that wasn’t hers, in a town she hadn’t called home in years, for longer than she could count. It wasn’t until the cell phone in her back pocket rang that Root snapped out of it. Only two people had that number (three if you counted the Machine) and Root didn’t think Gen would be calling her from upstairs.

With trembling fingers, Root pulled the phone out of her pocket and answered it.

“Hey,” said the low voice on the other end of the line.

Root didn’t dare speak, didn’t trust her voice not to betray everything.

“Root?”

Sameen Shaw sounded worried and it pissed Root off enough to reclaim her voice.

“Yeah,” said Root. She wiped at her eyes again, bit her lip and managed to keep the tears at bay for now.

“Are you okay?” asked Shaw.

Root could hear the sounds of traffic in the distance. New York City alive and breathing.

“I’m fine,” said Root sharply, desperate to hang up and end this conversation. “We’re fine.”

“Root-”

“Is that all?” Root asked.

There was silence for a few moments. Just long enough for Root to wonder what Shaw was thinking. Long enough for her to wish that things were different, that it was Shaw in this place instead of her. She wished she had never took Gen to Russia and started all of this. Wished Shaw hadn’t took it upon herself to fix things only to screw it up royally and force them to run away and hide.

She wished it didn’t hurt so much and, most of all, she wished she had never fallen in love with Sameen Shaw in the first place.

Eventually, Shaw said, “Yeah, Root. That’s all.”


	26. Part 3: Chapter 26

_Manhattan, New York City_

“You wanted to see me?”

Sameen Shaw slid into the booth across from Harold Finch, failing to hide her smirk at the way he flinched from her unexpected and abrupt appearance. He’d “requested” to see her at the library later that afternoon, but Shaw had decided she would rather get it over with now.

Steam billowed upwards from Harold’s mug of Sencha green tea. The bag still in the mug, he stirred it around in the hot water for a moment, lips pursed before answering.

“Yes,” he said carefully. “I did.”

Shaw resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was being deliberately slow at getting to the point and she wondered if he was doing it to annoy her or throw her off. Probably both, knowing Finch. Either way, Shaw preferred to barge past all the pretence.

“Where are we on tracking Volkov?”

Finch stiffened. A hard line to his face formed and Shaw knew she had gotten to this part of the conversation sooner than he would have liked.

“ _We_ haven’t gotten anywhere,” said Harold. “The FBI is handling the investigation, as you very well know.”

“They’re taking too long,” Shaw objected. “It’s been three months, Finch.”

“Yes,” Harold agreed. “And I’m sure it would go a lot faster if you stopped harassing Detective Fusco.”

“I’m not harassing him,” Shaw said, a tad too quickly.

Fusco had been put in charge of coordinating the FBI and NYPD joint investigation into the resurgence of the Russian Bratva, and while he might have been doing an admirable job in the eyes of Finch and his superiors, to Shaw, as far as she was concerned, the investigation should have been finished with weeks ago. They knew who Volkov was, what he was capable of and what he had done. This gathering evidence bullshit was a waste of time in her mind when they already knew he was guilty.

“If you would just let me take care of it –” Shaw began.

“Absolutely not,” Harold said, his voice dropping low into a hiss He glanced around the diner to make sure their conversation was still private. Nobody was paying any attention to them. Everyone far too busy with the morning rush and stuffing their faces with breakfast to care about them. “The last time you decided to “take care of it”, you shot and killed the wrong man.”

Shaw ground her teeth together. He was never going to let her forget that mistake.

“I know,” said Shaw. “But this time we know who Volkov is -”

“No,” said Harold firmly. “I will _not_ allow you to start a war with the Russian mafia.”

_We are already at war_ , Shaw thought. Finch was just too blind - too naive - to see it.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Shaw asked.

Harold took a sip of his tea. “We wait. Patience is a virtue after all, Ms Shaw.”

This time, Shaw did roll her eyes. “What about Root and Gen?”

Harold considered her for a moment. “They’re still safe where they are?”

Shaw nodded. “I spoke to Root yesterday. They’re fine.”

She decided not to tell him just how far from fine Root actually sounded. She hoped she was wrong, that the miles between them had distorted the lilt to Root’s voice so much that Shaw could no longer detect the nuances and meanings she used to be so familiar with. But that was the most Shaw got out of Root these days. One word answers that may as well have been spoken by someone else.

Root wasn’t fine, _they_ weren’t fine and Shaw could hear - _feel_ \- the blame being thrown at her despite the distance that lay between them.

“Good,” said Harold. “Then they should stay where they are.”

Except he didn’t know where “there” was and it was easy for him to say it. To sacrifice Root and Gen to that place. Not even Shaw was sure why there, of all places, was the best the Machine could come up with.

“So was that everything?” Shaw asked, watching as Harold went back to sipping his tea like the conversation was over. “What about the numbers?”

“What about them?” said Harold. He put his cup down, frowning behind his black framed glasses.

“Don’t you need help?”

“Mr Reese is perfectly capable of handling them by himself,” said Harold.

Shaw didn’t believe that for a second. They had been stretched thin even with Shaw helping out and now things were worse. Finch and Reese could go on pretending it was still like the good old days when it had just been the two of them trying to get by. And they had been mostly successful; saving numbers and stopping bad guys. But not even the Man in the Suit could be in two places at once. A few years ago, Finch knew that all too well. It was why he had hired her, after all.

Now though, they were all getting older. Reese could act like he was still twenty years younger, that popping kneecaps and dishing out right hooks was still as easy slipping a fresh clip into a gun. But he was getting slower; taking punches he could have easily avoided a few years ago, losing sight of numbers because he hobbled more than ran.

They needed her help and Shaw was willing and offering and yet here Finch was, stonewalling her. _Benching_ her because of one mistake.

A mistake that had cost a life.

_That_ she could never forget. _That_ Finch and Reese could never forgive. Root and Gen might be safe, but the life of Reese’s unborn child was forever lost and only Shaw was to blame.

Or, perhaps, she was just the easiest to blame. And going out and getting his ass kicked was, in Reese’s book, far better than the alternative of asking Shaw for help.

“Finch –”

“Perhaps you should go,” said Finch. He was looking past her now, over towards the diner’s front entrance.

She didn’t need to look to know who had just walked in. Harold’s tensed shoulders and startled expression told her enough.

The sensible thing would have been to slip out the back unnoticed, but Shaw was never one to hide from confrontation. She faced it head on, took the bullets and the pain and gave enough of it back to make it seem worth it. With John Reese, however, she had already struck the first blow and facing him was like her punishment.

Shaw could feel the dark look boring into the back of her head long before Reese made his way over to their booth. Harold smiled nervously and looked like he wished he was anywhere else but here. No wonder he had been so firm that Shaw meet him in the library at a specific time. A time when he knew Reese would be otherwise occupied. He didn’t want them running into each other, but Shaw had gone and put a grenade in the face of that plan.

_Well good,_ she thought. She was tired of dancing around the both of them like they were two perfect angels who had never screwed up in their lives. She was sitting opposite the man who had created an uncontrollable God and was currently being given the cold shoulder from a former government assassin. They were all as bad as each other. Reese and Finch could stay on their high horses all they wanted but Shaw knew, if circumstances had been different – and they had been once for the both of them; they had been willing to kill to avenge and protect the person they cared about the most – then they would have done the exact same thing, consequences be damned.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Reese sounded cold and tired, like he hadn’t slept properly in months. He looked it too. Bloodshot eyes, several days’ worth of stubble on his face that was greyer than Shaw remembered.

“Relax,” said Shaw. She wanted to roll her eyes in the face of his childishness, but knew she deserved all that she got. “I was just leaving.”

She got out of the booth, careful not to step into Reese’s space. He was as stiff as a wall, glaring into space rather than directly acknowledging her. She nodded goodbye to Harold, but he didn’t dare say anything back.

“Good,” said Reese with as much scorn and anger in his voice that he was capable of. He may as well have been talking to a common thief, one of the perps they dealt with everyday, not someone he had been working closely with for several years. The force of it made Shaw freeze, blocking the path of a waitress carrying a pot of hot coffee. She beelined past Shaw, shooting her a tightly controlled smile, just enough condescension for Shaw to know their near collision had been all her fault.

She should have just left it and walked away. Left them to their numbers and their grief and anger. She shouldn’t have made things worse. Instead she turned back to the table and ignored Finch’s warning and panicked look.

“Reese,” she began.

He stiffened in the seat she had just vacated, staring at his hands clenched into tight fists on top of the table. “I –”

“Get. Out.”

“Look –”

“Ms Shaw, I really don’t think –”

Reese stood up abruptly and the look on his face almost made Shaw take a step back.

“You really want to do this here?” he said, voice tight with anger.

“Do what?” Shaw asked stupidly and thought she could hear something almost like a squeak come out of Harold’s mouth.

“Mr Reese, please,” Harold begged.

“Shut up, Harold,” said Reese, although his eyes were still on Shaw, hard enough to burn. His jaw was tightly clenched, his hands still in fists at his sides, although Shaw could see them twitch like he was itching to swing the first punch. He was ready for a fight and Sameen Shaw was his one and only target.

She could take him. He had about a foot and a half on her and he had to be at least double her weight, but Shaw _knew_ she could take him. If he wanted a fight, she would give it to him and then maybe, ass kicked and feeling even sorrier for himself, he would finally get over it.

He probably wouldn’t forgive her – she doubted he ever would – but maybe he’d be able to stay in the same room as her without looking like he was about to whip his gun out an empty the clip at her.

Without realising it, Shaw had taken a step closer, glaring up at Reese with her own hands balled into fists.

“That is _enough_ ,” Harold snapped, climbing to his feet. “Both of you: _enough_.”

They both froze, still glaring at each other in the middle of the busy diner. Reese was the first to move, blinking as he sat back down, unclenching his hands. He said nothing. As far as he was concerned, Shaw didn’t exist and she knew it would be pointless – verging on suicidal – to attempt to engage him any further. She wanted to try though. She couldn’t say why, but it bothered her, seeing him like this, knowing she was the cause of it. But, she knew, there was no easy solution. No quick fix to make it all go away. There never was.

Harold’s pleading eyes found her gaze. He wasn’t on her side in this and was doing his best to remain neutral, but leaning towards Reese all the same.

_Fine_ , she thought, let them sideline her _._ She didn’t need Harold to give her numbers. The Machine had been giving them to Shaw Herself for a year.

Shaw was tired of playing nice, of sitting around and waiting for the next move. Harold thought he held all the cards in their fight against the Russians and in many ways he did, but Shaw knew he didn’t have all of them.

It was the Machine.

It always had been.

 

 

_Bishop, Texas_

“Miss Groves, please take a seat.”

“Principal Dawson,” said Root, forcing her voice into something sweet and bright as she took the offered seat in front of Melanie Dawson’s desk.

She had been Melanie Hughes back when Root had been scrawny Sam Groves. Her hair had always been the perfect blonde curls, her clothes the latest fashion and everything Sam wore always brought a look of mild disgust to her face. There was never a day when Melanie Hughes didn’t have something nasty and deprecating to say to Sam and, for most of the time, Sam had been able to laugh it off. It was easy when you had a friend beside you to help. But after Hanna, Sam found it harder and harder to laugh and it didn’t take long for Melanie Hughes to become the bane of Sam’s existence, stalking the school hallways like she owned the place.

And now she did.

It wasn’t a position Root would have ever expected her to end up with, yet here she was, giving Root the same mildly disdainful look she would have done twenty years ago. She hadn’t changed one bit, apart from the surname, the lines on her face that came with age, and now that Root was here, sitting in the hot seat, it felt like she hadn't changed at all either.

Root pursed her lips and forced herself to relax. It had been close to two decades, she had killed more people with her bare hands than she cared to count and she _refused_ to be unnerved by this woman.

“What’s this about?” Root asked with the air of a person who was far too busy for this sort of thing. As if Root had other places to be right now.

Principal Dawson shuffled some of the papers on her desk before speaking, almost as if she were trying to arrange the paperwork in such a way to make it look especially important.

“Gennifer-”

“Gen,” Root corrected automatically. “Gennifer” had been the Machine’s idea. “Genrika” stood out too much and they couldn’t be sure how wide the Russian Bratva’s eyes stretched. So Gennifer Groves it was, as far as the school and everyone else in Bishop was concerned.

The principal's mouth thinned like she wasn’t used to being interrupted and the way her hard gaze landed on Root told her she wouldn’t tolerate it happening again.

“ _Gennifer_ ,” said Principal Dawson pointedly, “has missed a total of…” She paused, glancing down at the papers in front of her. “ _Twelve_ lessons so far this semester.”

“What?” said Root stupidly. Gen hadn’t been off sick once since they had moved here.

“I take it you were unaware that Gennifer has been skipping class?”

Root frowned. “I know she was a little late the other day, but-”

Principal Dawson scoffed and removed the reading glasses from her face condescendingly. “I would hardly call twelve lessons a “little late”, Miss Groves.”

Too shocked to say anything, Root stared at the principal and tried to ignore the way she was looking at her like she was the stupidest person she had ever met. Like she was the worst _parent_ she had ever met.

Because shouldn’t she have _known_? Shouldn’t she have realised somehow that Gen hadn’t been locked up safe and sound in school from 8.30 am to three o’clock in the afternoon?

“Quite frankly, Miss Groves,” Principal Dawson continued in that same sneering voice she’d had when they were teenagers themselves, “cutting class is not something that is tolerated at this school. In fact, Gennifer’s overall attitude is downright disrespectful and -”

“Gen,” said Root, closing her eyes briefly before turning her gaze back to the principal. “Her name is _Gen_.”

The smirk, cold and full of terrifying secrets, that was directed carefully at Root sent alarm bells ringing in her head. Really, being called into the principal’s office should have done it. But perhaps Root was just being naive, hopeful, delusional, that morning when she received the phone call from the school secretary.

“I’m afraid to say it,” Principal Dawson said, sounding like she was enjoying herself immensely. And she was, Root realised. This was just another way to get under Sam Groves’ skin. Nothing at all had changed between them in the last twenty years and Melanie Dawson had just been waiting the last three months for the perfect opportunity to call Samantha Groves in here and show off her fancy office and overly large desk, the awards and commendations stuck to the walls. “But if Gennifer’s behaviour doesn’t improve,” she continued, “I will have no choice but to suspend her.”

“For skipping a couple of classes?” said Root. “That’s bullshit.”

Principal Dawson stiffened like she wasn’t used to people swearing in her presence. But then the smirk reappeared and Root had to tighten her grip on the armrests to keep herself in place, to stop herself from punching the smile off of Melanie Dawson’s face.

“I can see where Gennifer gets it from.”

Root bit the inside of her cheek before she said something stupid, something she would regret. Something that would lead Melanie Dawson down a trail that would get them all into trouble.

Forcing herself to breathe through her anger, Root resisted the urge to get up and run. She wanted out of this school, out of Bishop. But she couldn’t do that. She had to stay here, for however long. Perhaps there would never be an end and Root had to remind herself why she was here. To protect Gen like she had promised to do. So she would take Melanie Dawson’s judgement and disapproval because what else could she do? Bishop was a whole new playground compared to New York. There was a different set of rules and Root had to follow them carefully if she wanted to keep herself and Gen off everyone’s radar.

If she wanted to keep them safe.

“I’ll talk to her,” Root eventually sighed, pushing her hands down on the armrests as she got out of her seat.

“I think it’s going to take a little more than that,” said Principal Dawson. “A week’s worth of detentions will be a fitting punishment.”

“Fine,” said Root through gritted teeth. She could think of worse punishments and thought Gen probably could too. She had almost made it to the door when Dawson spoke again.

“Oh and Miss Groves?” Root turned around and almost wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to look at the smile, shining with glee, on Melanie Dawson’s face. “It was nice seeing you again.”

An eye roll, a glare, even a forced “you too” would have been better than the silence Root responded with. Silence meant Dawson had won this round and Root wasn’t sure how she could possibly compete in the next one.

At least she left the office with some semblance of dignity, moving her feet slowly rather than the sprint her body was itching to do.

The bell had already gone for the end of the school day twenty minutes ago and Root found Gen outside the principal’s office, sitting on the bench that countless Bishop kids had found themselves on, waiting on their fate. Root herself had been there a few times, until she had learned to keep her head down, remain invisible.

Gen was staring at her feet, but she glanced up as Root approached, looking guilty and a little nervous.

“Car,” said Root, uncomfortably aware of the school secretary watching them closely. “Now.”

She didn’t give Gen time to protest or defend herself or spout the half a dozen excuses she must have come up while waiting for Root to come out of the Principal’s office. Instead, Root stormed out of the building. She could hear Gen stomping behind her through the empty corridors. The odd student at their lockers barely paid them any attention as they walked past other than to suss out who was leaving in such a rush.

The air outside was startlingly warmer compared to the air conditioned hallways and Root made her way quickly to the car to get out of the blazing heat. But Root didn’t start the engine right away. She let the heat sink in until it felt like the blood was boiling in her veins, the heat and her anger mixing together until she thought she would burst from it.

The passenger door opened, letting in a cool breeze that drifted over Root’s clammy and sweating skin. Gen got in the car, but she left the door ajar when she noticed Root sitting there with the keys still in her hand.

“What the hell were you thinking?” said Root. She kept her eyes in front of her, afraid that if she looked at Gen she would snap.

“I only skipped a couple of classes,” said Gen. She didn’t sound like her usual sullen self, so she must have known how much trouble she was in. “It’s no big deal. Everyone does it.”

“Your principal said twelve,” Root said gripping the keys so tight in her hand that the metal dug into her flesh.

“It was only ten,” Gen said adamantly. Realising what she had just admitted to, Gen’s mouth snapped shut. “Principal Dawson hates me,” she continued after a moment. “She’s always out to get me. I never even did anything.”

“Apart from cutting class,” Root pointed out and Gen glanced away sheepishly. “Are you out of your mind?” she added, finding she could keep her anger and worry at bay for only so long. “Are you trying to lead the Russians straight to you?”

“No,” said Gen, but the word was barely out of her mouth before Root continued.

“Because that’s what will happen if you keep doing things like this. Your principal is already itching to suspend you. And if she decides to take it further - if she thinks I’m letting you do whatever the hell you want… Gen, if she gets child services involved and you get put in the system… it would only be a matter of time before they found you.”

“I know,” Gen muttered, staring down at her knees.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Gen said sullenly. “I won’t do it again.”

“Why were you even doing it in the first place?” Root asked.

Gen shrugged. “It was that stupid math class with Mr Mortimor. I’ve done all that stuff before. It’s boring.”

“So you decided to skip school?” said Root. “That was your bright idea? Instead of keeping your head down. The least you could have done was not get caught,” she added, because despite how angry and scared she was, she was a little disappointed about that. Gen prided herself on being the youngest spy to ever spy, yet it seemed her skills were more than lacking lately when it came to stealth.

“Like you’ve never done it before,” Gen muttered darkly.

Root pursed her lips together tightly because that wasn’t the point, even if it was true.

“ _I_ never got caught,” said Root. No one at home cared enough on most days whether or not she went to school and no one at school ever noticed her. And by the time Root was Gen’s age, hacking the school system to mark herself present in all her classes was as easy as slipping past the vice principal hovering near the school gate with a lit cigarette in his mouth and his beady little eyes scouring for troublemakers. “Where did you even go?”

Gen shrugged again and Root glared at her until she got an answer.

“Just the old train tracks,” she muttered under her breath. “There’s this bit under the bridge at the creek…”

“Yeah,” said Root, clenching her jaw tightly as she shook her head in disbelief. “I know it.”

It had been the go to place when Root had been a kid too. Not that she had ever bothered to go there. It was full of kids who thought they were too cool for air and they would have had as much patience for scrawny little Sam Groves in her all black clothes and black painted fingernails as she would have had for their faded band t-shirts and doped out conversations.

She knew Dawson would have a field day if she found out where Gen had been and what, by reputation, she might have been doing. And Root was just glad she didn’t appear to have worked that out yet.

“Who with?” asked Root.

“No one,” said Gen. “I told you, I don’t have any friends. I just found it one day.”

Root thought that was bullshit. The spot under the bridge was hard to find if you weren’t looking for it or didn’t know about it. It’s why generations of Bishop kids hung out there. You couldn’t see the little crevice under the bridge from the road as you drove over the creek. It was the perfect place to hide, despite the fact that most people in Bishop actually knew the spot. But if parents thought their kids were safe in school, that they were good little Christian children, then they would never suspect that it was _their_ son or daughter under the bridge. The distinct smell of pot was someone else’s kid. Someone else’s problem.

“Who were you with?” Root repeated.

Gen sighed. “Just some older kids. I don’t know their names. They go to the high school.”

“You know it’s only idiot pot heads that hang out there, right?” said Root. She eyed Gen carefully for the first time since getting into the car, checking for signs of dilated pupils or spaced out eyes.

“Jesus,” said Gen, “I’m _not_ smoking pot. I’m not stupid. My cousin Vadim used to take way worse and I saw how that shit rotted his brain.”

“Then what were you doing there?” Root asked. She wanted to believe her, she really did, but Gen had been skipping school, putting herself in danger… and Root hadn’t noticed. She’d been too caught up in her own stupid shit to notice. “ _Gen_?”

Teeth clenching so hard the muscles in her jaw twitched, Gen shook her head. “What did you expect me to do? You never let me do anything. I can’t even walk to school by myself. You treat me like a prisoner-”

“Gen,” said Root, surprised by how upset she sounded. It didn’t sound like Gen at all. “It’s not safe.”

“But wasn’t that the whole point of coming here? To be safe?”

“We still have to be careful,” Root said reasonably.

“This isn’t being careful, Root,” Gen snapped. “You’re treating me like I’m frail or fragile or something. Like I’m a little kid who’s going to wander off and get kidnapped or something. But I’m not.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” said Root, but doubted herself even as she said it. When was the last time she had let Gen out of her sight? Go somewhere on her own?

Not since New York. Not since coming to Bishop.

“Yes you are,” said Gen. “You won’t even let me answer the front door. Not that anyone ever visits us apart from the takeout guy,” she added under her breath.

“Other people visit us,” said Root, affronted.

“The mail man doesn’t count either,” said Gen. “You keep going on about us maintaining a cover, but it doesn’t work if we hide away all the time. People have noticed.”

“What people?” said Root, her heart freezing suddenly. They were supposed to be safe here. That was the whole point. People weren’t supposed to notice them. And nobody would have, she knew, had they been in a bustling city with five million other people. But this was Bishop where the town’s population was a mere three thousand, where _everyone_ was noticed by someone. Keeping your head down, trying to stay invisible, didn’t work in Bishop. Root _knew_ that and yet she had deluded herself into thinking that they could.

“I dunno,” said Gen. “Kids at school. They all think I’m weird. That you’re weird. The teacher’s too probably. Everyone in this stupid town gossips more than they breathe.”

Root bit her lip and turned to glance out of the window. Most of the kids had left the school and by now some of the teachers were starting to head home too. Root didn’t recognise any of them, all her old teachers long since retired or dead. There was just Melanie Dawson who Root knew from experience liked to gossip as much as the rest of them. And being principal probably gave her easy access to all of it. She could make life difficult for them, if she wanted, and Root thought she probably would. She had hated Sam Groves, had lived to make her life miserable and Root, from their brief meeting alone, thought that was still the same.

They had to be careful, but something had to change too.

Sighing, Root rubbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you feel this way.”

“I know,” said Gen.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” said Root. “You can walk to and from school by yourself -” Gen’s face brightened up instantly, “-but on one condition.”

Gen’s face fell. “What?”

“You walk straight to school and you come straight home,” said Root. “And you stick to the main streets.” Those few streets where there were cameras and the Machine could keep an eye on her. “And if you’re going to be late, you call.”

“What if I want to go somewhere else?” Gen asked.

“Like where?”

Gen shrugged. “I dunno. The library or something...”

Root stiffened and bit her lip. “How about we just stick to school for now.”

“Fine,” Gen sighed, but Root thought she looked a bit happier. Root wasn’t, however. Her heart was already racing at the thought of Gen wandering about this town by herself. But she was right. Root had been treating her like a prisoner and, rather than protecting her, Root had been doing more harm than good. So even if it made her sick with nerves, she would let Gen have this. Twenty minutes by herself to school and back, with the Machine watching like always.

They were safe here, she had to remind herself, over and over again. The Machine would protect them.

She had to.

“Are we still going to Corpus Christi tomorrow?” Gen asked as Root finally started the car and turned the AC on. The change was instant, the cool air blasting out of the fans making Root feel a little better.

“I dunno,” said Root. “Aren’t I supposed to ground you or something?”

“Technically,” said Gen, “you already do that.”

Root narrowed her eyes playfully. “Don’t push it.”

Looking guilty again, Gen glanced away and Root drove them away from the school, wishing she could make this all disappear. She wished that they could be somewhere - anywhere - else.

“But yes,” said Root after a few moments. “We can still go.”

“Really?” asked Gen, a grin brightening her face.

“Really,” said Root. “I think we could both do with getting out of this town for a few hours.”

*

Visiting the bookstore in search of comic books wasn’t their only reason for driving up to Corpus Christi that weekend. In the three months they had been in Bishop, Gen had sprouted by about an inch and a half. The clothes the Machine had acquired for them upon their arrival were all now far too short for her and Root knew she wouldn’t get away with wearing them for much longer.

Shopping for school clothes wasn’t something Root had ever anticipated she would have to do again since her own school days. Most of Sam’s clothes had been second hand from thrift stores, worn until there were holes in them that couldn’t be sewn up anymore. Nowadays she had a bit more freedom, more cash to spend even if they were still on a bit of a budget given their cover identities.

The busy mall left Root tense and edgy and she made sure to keep Gen close, afraid to lose her in the crowd. Perhaps before their conversation in the car yesterday, Gen would have tried to wander off by herself, but she walked next to Root like a shadow, patient for once in her life.

“Where do you need to go next?” Root asked. They were carrying bags filled with pairs of jeans, several t-shirts and underwear (which Gen refused to let Root help her pick out). Everything she would need for school to last for a few more months. Well, at least Root hoped so anyway. She hated Bishop, but she hated the uncertainty of the crowds of Corpus Christi even more. Her eyes scanned the numerous faces, trying to recognise any of them. None of them matched the picture of Volkov in her head, or any of the other high up Russian Bratva that the Machine had shown her.

Logically, she knew they were safe. That the Bratva couldn’t possibly have men in every city in the country. Even if they had managed to narrow down Root and Gen’s location to Texas, the Machine would have alerted her by now. Root had to keep telling herself that, had to keep reminding herself to trust the Machine to know what She was doing.

“I still need new shoes,” said Gen.

“You don’t _need_ them,” Root said, glancing down at Gen’s feet and the scruffy sneakers she was wearing. She had several other pairs at home too, but she always seemed to wear this particular pair everywhere.

“But I want another pair of Vans,” Gen complained. “The sole’s coming out of these ones.”

Root rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what pair of Vans Gen wanted. The kid really needed to learn how to clear her internet history.

“And what if they don’t have any Marvel Avenger’s Vans left?” Root asked, leading Gen by the shoulder towards the Vans store anyway.

“They do,” said Gen. “I already checked their website and reserved a pair in my size. Which you already know,” she added, scowling slightly. She never did like it when someone turned the spying game back on her.

“Yeah, only because you oh so subtly left the tab open,” said Root.

“Whatever,” said Gen. “They’re so cool. Can I get them?”

Root smirked. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Glancing up at Root, she almost walked into an older couple. Root pulled her out of the way and smiled at them apologetically as they passed.

“I thought you wanted comic books later?” said Root.

“I do,” said Gen. “Can’t I get both?”

Root pursed her lips together, stopping the “yes” from automatically leaving her mouth. She would give Gen anything, and after yesterday, the guilt of realising what she had been doing to Gen while trying to protect her, left Root wanting to do everything she could to make it up to her. This, she suspected, Gen knew. She was being played, that much was obvious even without the wide eyes and pouty face Gen was currently displaying. _Cute,_ Root thought and almost gave in.

“Haven’t you ever heard of the term all good things come in moderation?” said Root.

“That’s a stupid phrase,” Gen complained.

“I’m supposed to be punishing you for skipping school,” Root pointed out feebly. “Not buying you things.”

“Isn’t detention with the _principal_ punishment enough?” said Gen. They stopped outside the Vans store and Root could see Gen glancing inside out of the corner of her eye, searching for the sneakers she so desperately wanted. “Please,” Gen whined.

Root sighed. “I suppose, technically, I do still owe you a birthday present.”

“Oh yeah,” said Gen and then frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Come on,” said Root, rolling her eyes as she took Gen by the elbow and led her inside the store. Gen grinned. “But you’re only getting one comic book later.”

Gen pouted. “But-”

“ _One_ ,” said Root.

“Ugh, fine,” said Gen and headed over to the checkout to ask about her shoes.

After spending ten minutes examining the sneakers to make sure they were perfectly intact, Gen asked if she could wear them straight out of the store. The sales person nodded and led Root up to the cash register to pay. Root felt a little bit annoyed about spending sixty dollars on a pair of shoes just because they had stupid cartoons on them. She opted out of telling Gen that though, and was just glad she seemed happier now after everything that had happened yesterday.

“So lunch or bookstore first?” Root asked as they walked out of the store. She smiled when Gen kept looking down to admire her new shoes.

“Hm...” said Gen. “Lunch. I’m gonna need time to decide which comic book I want since I’m only allowed _one_.”

“Hey, you wanted the shoes,” said Root. “We can take them back if you want.”

“No,” said Gen quickly. “I can live with one comic book for now. Hey,” she added suddenly. “Do you think we could get Shaw to ship out the ones I left in New York?”

In the middle of the busy mall, Root froze. Gen didn’t and kept on walking a few steps before she noticed and turned back.

“What?” said Gen. “I know she’s been calling to check-in or whatever.”

“That’s…” Root cleared her throat. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Which part?” said Gen. “Getting my comic books shipped out or calling Shaw?”

“Gen,” said Root shaking her head. “I’m not… we’re not discussing this.”

“But-”

“Let’s go,” said Root. Forcing her feet to move, she dragged Gen out towards the parking lot.

“Are you still mad at her?” Gen asked, half running to keep up with Root’s pace. “Because she was just trying to protect me, you know. It’s not like you wouldn’t have done the same. It’s not her fault we’re-”

“Don’t,” Root snapped and Gen flinched when Root rounded on her and tightened her grip on her wrist. “We are _not_ talking about Shaw.”

“Okay fine,” said Gen. “But let go. You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry,” said Root, dropping Gen’s wrist like she had just been burned. She stared as Gen rubbed at reddened skin and felt sick. “I didn’t mean… I just… I don’t want to think about Shaw.”

“I know,” said Gen quietly, staring down at her wrist. “I just… I miss them.”

“Yeah,” said Root, swallowing through the thickness in her throat. She didn’t need Gen to voice it out loud to know. Gen wasn’t happy here, neither of them were, and although things hadn’t been perfect in New York, at least they hadn't been alone. “Let’s go eat,” she added eventually.

But she didn’t think she could stomach any food right now.

*

For some reason, Root always found herself in the science fiction section of the bookstore whenever she visited one. She gravitated towards it like it was calling out to her, ignoring all the bestsellers, florid romance paperbacks and autobiographies of people she had never even heard of.

The section was small, about three shelves, but a good range all the same. The older stuff Root had read years ago. Some of it in a dark corner of Bishop’s library. Her mother would have thrown a fit if she had caught Sam reading this kind of stuff, so she had never checked them out and took them home to read.Harold’s library didn’t have much in the way of sci-fi and it was something she missed during her brief stint there. It wasn’t really to his tastes, something she found rather amusing given his creation of an artificial intelligence.

Root skimmed her fingers along the spines of familiar titles. Philip K. Dick, Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke… there was a few she never heard of, some she had been meaning to read for years but hadn’t gotten around to. Now she wondered if she ever would.

Her fingers stilled on one particular title, frozen in place like the chill that had just sunk into her bones. It had been a while, years in fact, since she had thought about that book. She used to buy one every year. Not that she had ever read it.

Hanna’s favourite book.

Root had always meant to read it. She had promised Hanna she would. But after her disappearance, Root hadn't been able to bring herself to open the pages.

Maybe now, with all this free time she found herself with while Gen was in school, while she was stuck in Bishop, maybe she should try it.Root found her fingers pulling the book off the shelf. It was lighter than she was expecting and Root hugged it to her chest as she went in search of Gen.

The bookstore was two floors and Root found Gen upstairs in a far corner where two shelves filled with comic books were located. The rest of the floor was dedicated to history and travel and Root bypassed these books with very little interest in them. There was a small café on this floor too and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled Root’s nose.

Gen wasn’t alone when Root rounded a bookshelf and spotted her. She froze on the spot, heart racing as she caught sight of the woman Gen was chatting animatedly to. The beat of her heart only slowed when she noticed the nametag pinned to the woman’s chest - too far away for Root to read – and she realised Gen wasn’t in any danger from the pretty woman who worked in the bookstore.

The thought surprised Root. Since coming to Bishop, she wasn’t used to noticing people beyond assessing whether or not they were a potential threat. Root was usually too busy averting her gaze and avoiding people. But she noticed the bright smile, all white teeth and full lips as the woman talked to Gen with ease.

“Marvel fan, huh?” the woman said as she smiled down at Gen. Her face was young and full of life, everything Root wasn’t.

Gen stiffened slightly, diverting her eyes away from her perusal of the shelves and scowling at the woman. “How did you know?” she asked suspiciously and let out low, “Oh,” when the woman pointed down at Gen’s new shoes. “I just got them. Aren’t they cool?”

The bookstore woman shrugged. “If you like that sort of thing.”

Gen’s face drooped slightly in the way it always did when someone criticised the things she liked. “You don’t like the Avengers?”

The woman shrugged, moving past Gen to reach up and pull one of the books off the top shelf. The stretch of her arm caused her shirt to ride up and Root caught a glimpse of smooth pale flesh and the hint of a tattoo peeking out just underneath the cotton of her black t-shirt before the woman straightened, comic book now in her hand, and it was gone. Root licked her lips and swallowed past her curiosity, wondering why she was still standing there, in the shadows, watching.

“Have you read any DC?” the woman asked. The more she talked the more Root heard the native Texas accent. Not as strong as some of the population of South Texas, but there all the same, like she was trying to hide it but had forgotten herself.

“I’m a Marvel fan,” said Gen firmly.

“Nothing wrong with being both,” said the woman, handing Gen the comic book.

“Birds of Prey,” said Gen doubtfully, staring down at the front cover.

“Badass chicks fighting crime,” said the woman. “You can’t go wrong with that.”

Gen frowned in thought.

“But if that doesn’t take your fancy,” said the woman, reaching for another comic book on the shelf. “Try this.”

Taking that one too, Gen continued to frown and Root decided to intervene before Gen had an armful of comics that she couldn’t decide between.

“Find something you like?” asked Root, coming up behind Gen and putting a hand on her shoulder. The bookstore clerk – _Angie_ , her nametag said now that Root was close enough to read it – smiled at her shyly. Root found her lips quirking into a small smile in response.

“They don’t have the one I want,” Gen said sadly, still glancing at the two comics in her hand.

“Oh?” said Angie. “What were you looking for? We might be able to order it in.”

“Really?” said Gen excitedly and Angie nodded. The brown curls of her tied back hair fell loose and she quickly brushed the strands behind her ear. “New Avengers: Volume 3. It’s the next one I need in the series,” Gen explained.

Angie’s teeth caught her bottom lip and Root found herself staring at the way pink flesh turned white.

“I think we should be able to get that. Let me check,” said Angie. She led them towards the cashier’s desk and Gen bounced after her eagerly, happily to have finally found someone in Texas more knowledgeable about comic books than she was.

“Okay,” said Angie, typing a few things into the computer at the desk. “We’ve got one in the warehouse, but it usually takes a couple of weeks for stuff to get here.”

“Can I order it?” Gen asked, glancing up at Root.

Root considered her for a moment, knowing Gen well enough by now to know she wouldn’t be satisfied with waiting two weeks for a comic. She would want one right now too. Root would buy her the entire shelf if she could and she didn’t need the Machine to remind her of their current financial situation. They were on a budget and today they had gone well beyond it. It was going to be a struggle to pay the bills at the end of the month and she really didn’t want the Machine to have to bail them out.

“It’s okay,” said Angie, looking at Root like she knew what she was thinking and Root felt suddenly annoyed that she could be so easily read these days. “I can order it in anyway and it won’t cost you anything extra. You don’t even have to pay until you come in to collect it.”

“Can I?” said Gen, flashing those big wide eyes up at Root again. Root rolled her own eyes, turning Gen’s face away from her lightly with her hand on the top of her head.

“Fine,” she said and could practically feel Gen thrumming with excitement beneath her palm.

“Can I get your number?” said Angie.

Root raised her eyebrow, a smirk playing at her mouth as Angie’s cheeks burned red when she realised how that sounded.

“I meant – to call… when the book comes in,” Angie said in a rush.

Still grinning, Root quickly jotted down her number on the post-it note Angie handed out without looking at her, shaking her head in embarrassment.

“What?” Root asked once she had handed it over and glanced up to find Gen grinning at her knowingly.

“Nothing,” said Gen quickly. “I think I’ll take this one for now,” she added, passing one of the comic books over to Angie. Root was too flustered by Gen’s comment to protest.

“Birds of Prey,” said Angie, ringing it up. “Good choice.”

“We’ll take this too,” said Root, handing over the book she was still holding.

“Flowers for Algernon?” said Gen, nose scrunching up in distaste. “Lame. They’re making us read that at school. It’s _so_ boring.”

Behind the register, Angie smirked. “Just be grateful they’re not making you read Shakespeare. Now _that’s_ boring.”

Gen chuckled in agreement as Root paid for their books, wincing as the last of her cash disappeared into the cash register. It was taking her a while to get used to a budget again, but she told herself it was just one weekend of indulgence and they would be back on track soon enough.

Taking their bag of shopping, Gen pulled her comic book out and immediately shoved her nose behind it.

Angie grinned. “Well at least she’s eager.”

“I haven’t read a comic book in _months_ ,” Gen said, glowering. “Bishop is so lame.”

“Bishop?” said Angie and Root stiffened. Realising she had probably just said something she shouldn’t have, Gen quickly shoved her face sheepishly back behind her comic book.

“Yeah,” said Root, giving Gen a hard look before turning back to Angie. She didn’t see any point in lying now. “It’s a small town near –”

“Robstown,” said Angie. “I grew up there. Never ventured to Bishop much though.”

“Well why would you?” said Root. “It doesn’t exactly have much to offer.”

Beside her, Gen huffed with impatience. Root didn’t know why she was still speaking, why she found it so easy to talk to this woman she didn’t know with the infectious smile. It didn’t sit well with her though, and she had to remind herself they were supposed to be being careful. Root muttered her thanks and took Gen by the shoulder, intending to guide her out of the store.

“I’ll call you,” Angie called. When Root glanced over her shoulder to smirk at her presumptuousness once again, she found Angie turning a deeper shade of red than before. “About the comic,” she added quickly, eyes crinkling shut as she shook her head. “That came out wrong again. I mean, I call you when it comes in.”

“Okay,” said Root, still smiling and finding her that her cheeks were burning red, the warmth spreading throughout her body when Angie smiled back.

“I never caught you name,” said Angie before Root could turn away again.

Root watched her for a moment, thinking about lying. But her mouth opened and the name “Sam” fell from her lips before she could stop herself.


	27. Part 3: Chapter 27

“Are you sure about this?” said Root.

Gen rolled her eyes and scowled. Rather difficult given then the slice of toast currently shoved in her mouth, but effective all the same.

“I’m only walking to school,” said Gen, swallowing down the last of her breakfast. “Chill.”

“I’m chill,” said Root, although she felt far from it. Gen’s doubtful look told her she knew it too.

“Yeah right,” said Gen. “But I promise to look both ways before crossing the road,” she added sarcastically, taking the sandwich Root held out to her and shoved it into her bag.

“Gen,” said Root seriously.  As seriously as she wished Gen would take this. Root hadn’t slept much last night, too fearful of dreams filled with Gen getting lost, disappearing into the night never to be seen again.

Gen sighed. “It’s barely a twenty minute walk. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” said Root. “I just…”

But she didn’t know what she was. Her fears were irrational, she knew that. Fifteen years of hating this town and suppressing it from her mind had made it more sinister than it actually was. Hundreds of Bishop kids walked to school every day. Sam had been one of them herself. There was no danger here. That was the whole point of being in Bishop. Gen was safe here.

“Just remember,” Root continued, walking Gen to the front door, “straight to school and straight home. Call if you’re going to be late.”

“I _know_ ,” said Gen. “We’ve been through this a thousand times.” They had, but Gen had a way of ignoring the things she didn’t want hear. “You better not follow me,” Gen added, glancing at Root suspiciously. “I’ll know if you do. I made Shaw once,” she said proudly, “when she tried to follow me.”

Root raised an intrigued eyebrow. “I bet she loved that.”

Gen giggled. “It _was_ kinda funny.”

_Probably not to Shaw though_ , Root thought and wasn’t surprised Shaw had never mentioned it before.

But as much as Gen would have loved the opportunity to put her spy skills into practice under any other circumstances, Root knew now wasn’t the time. She had to let Gen do this on her own, no matter how much the independence sent a chill through her heart. So she let Gen go, taking comfort from the fact that the Machine was always watching, keeping them safe.

And the Machine did just that, buzzing an assurance in Root’s ear twenty minutes later - twenty-one and thirty four seconds to be exact. Just a few moments before Root’s phone beeped at her from her back pocket with a text message.

_I’m at school. I’m fine. Stop worrying - G._

Root smiled, feeling a little better.

*

It grew easier as the week went on. As Monday became Tuesday and then Wednesday, with Gen making it to school and back home again with nothing untoward happening to her, Root learned to relax a little. Still aware, alert for any indication of an impending and unlikely Bratva attack, Root managed to focus on something other than worrying for a few hours. She did what she was best at. What was easy to her. It had been a while, since Root had hacked something for the simple fun of it, and she found, going back to it now, that it relaxed her more than several days at a five star spa ever could.

But it was merely a game, a means of keeping herself occupied during the long hours while Gen was in school. She wanted to feel useful again. Her work with Harold had come to a standstill now that she was no longer in New York, but there were other ways in which she could be helpful. Plus, there was the added benefit of keeping track of just how long, exactly, they were likely to be stuck here.

The Machine had said no contact with anyone in New York and, aside from the odd phone call from Shaw to check in over the last three months, Root had stuck to that arrangement. Unfortunately, although it meant they were safe from the Bratva tapping into the phone lines, it also meant Root had no clue about the status of the FBI’s case against Vadim Volkov.

But Root had never been one to ask a real life person for information unless it was absolutely necessary. And in this case, by simply bypassing the FBI’s security firewalls, Root didn’t need to.

What she found, however, did nothing to further her ease. The FBI hadn’t gotten very far in building up a case against Volkov, and what information they did have, Root already knew. Or could at least guess. Their evidence – if you could call it that – was circumstantial at best, nothing linking Volkov directly to any crime. They were getting nowhere and while the FBI ran around, chasing their tails, Volkov was free to do whatever the hell he wanted. He seemed to get further and further out of the FBI’s, Interpol’s and the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service’s reach and, all the while, for all any of them knew, Volkov was one step closer to finding Gen.

In moments like this, when Root was staring at her computer screen fearing the worst, it was so easy for her to shove the blame on Shaw’s shoulders. She had killed the wrong man after all, triggering Volkov into investigating and discovering his illegitimate daughter.

Shaw was the reason Gen was in danger. The reason why they were stuck here. And Root could never forgive her for that. Part of her would always hate Shaw for forcing her to come back here; the one place in the whole world where she had vowed never to come back to again.

Because holding on to that blame, that _anger_ was easy. So much less painful than everything else. And with Shaw so far away, when Root didn't have to look at her, when she could easily picture the cold indifference that was so common to Shaw’s face, Root could pretend that the turmoil, the rage of emotions fighting and clawing its way against her heart was anger and hate and nothing more. That was what she was used to, after all. After Root had finally left Bishop, after her mother had died, it was all she had ever known.

She was Root - _not Sam, never Sam_ \- and Root, she told herself was indestructible.

But even as she told herself that on the long and hot lonely Texas days, it wasn't true. It could never be true. Because at roughly 3:30 in the afternoon, Gen would come home and Root would remember why she was here. Why she hadn't run away, for good this time, a long time ago.

Today, however, was different.

Gen didn't appear through the door at roughly 3:30 like she usually did, grumbling about how boring school was and her horrible lunchtime detentions with the principal teacher. She was late, by about ten minutes, when Root first realised. Nothing to worry about. Ten minutes was nothing. Gen had probably just gotten side tracked by something inane.

Except Root couldn’t stop the worry, the _fear_ from clawing at her and she snatched up her phone dialling Gen's number by heart even though it was already programmed into the phone. She was doing that overbearing protective thing again and she knew when this turned out to be the nothing that it probably was, Gen was going to get mad at her again.

The phone rang once, twice, echoing along Root’s cochlear implant. She could hear birds chirping on the trees outside with her good ear. A car driving past the house. But all she wanted to hear was Gen's voice and she got her wish a few moments later.

Root didn’t give Gen any time to say “hello” let alone explain herself.

“Where are you?”

“Still in school,” said Gen and Root couldn’t tell through the usual teenage sullenness if she was lying or not.

“Doing what?”

“I have this history project due Monday. We need to finish – well, _start_ it,” Gen explained. “So we’re gonna go to the library.”

“No,” said Root, knowing she sounded unreasonable. Ridiculous. But she didn’t care much beyond the sound of blood rushing in her ears as her heart thumped erratically in fear.

“Come home.”

“But I have to finish it,” Gen whined. “It’s worth half my grade.”

“You can do it here,” said Root. Right here, where Root could keep an eye on her. Could keep her safe and stop her from walking through a door and never coming back.

“But –”

“Come home now or I’m coming to get you,” said Root, car keys already in her hand.

“Fine,” said Gen. “But it’s a joint project so Meg needs to come too.”

Root didn’t know who Meg was and she had half a mind to say no. But she was acting foolish enough already, refusing to let Gen go to the library by herself.

The library was just a building. It couldn’t harm anyone. But it represented everything Root hated about this town. So much information and knowledge and yet no one ever seemed to do anything with it. If there was a black hole in Bishop, sucking in and crushing everything in sight, then the library was the centre of it, the town itself the event horizon pulling you in and refusing to let go. The library was where Hanna Frey went missing all those years ago and although no one talked about it openly – although they still gossiped about it behind closed doors, Root was sure – Hanna’s murder was still a heavy shadow that hung over everyone in this town and Root most of all. Because not _their_ town. Nothing so evil, so _horrible_ , could ever have happened in their quiet little town. So they hid it away like the scandalous skeleton in the closet that it was.

But it had happened and the library was where it had started; Trent Russell’s patio was where it had ended and, in between, nobody gave a damn. No one listened to the weird, skinny twelve year old girl who lived at the edge of town when she tried to tell someone what she saw that night. And, years later, nobody apologised for it. No one told her she had been right.

This town, after all these years, hadn’t changed and Root doubted it ever would. So she would keep her fears. As irrational as they appeared, they were also justified and she felt sure that she was doing the right thing. Even if Gen would never see it that way.

Which was how Root found herself with two teenage girls in her kitchen, textbooks and paper and pens and all the stationary a studious girl could ever want littering the table and, eventually, the floor.

Gen was bossy, Root was unsurprised to find out, as they worked together; ordering the other girl about and telling her what to do and when. But she was still attentive. She still listened to Meg carefully and even included a lot of her ideas. But it was clear Gen was the one in charge as they worked on their timeline of the American Civil War. Gen wasn’t much of a team player – the curse of being an only child, Root supposed, combined with moving around a lot during her childhood. There hadn’t been many opportunities for Gen to integrate herself as part of a team. As part of a group of friends.

She got on well with this girl, Root was glad to see, but she could also tell Gen was holding herself back, afraid of making friends and ties to a place where they were only staying temporarily.

And it was temporary. That thought alone kept Root going most days. Bishop wouldn’t be forever. They would be out of here soon enough. She tried not to think about the information she had hacked from the FBI’s servers that morning and just how far away they were from closing the case. Gen didn’t need to know, not yet. Although part of Root was tempted to tell her they would both be here for the long haul, if only so that Gen would settle more, make the friends she was so reluctant to find.

Uncertainty, above everything, was the worst kind of torment. And as much as Bishop was Root’s prison (hell) uncertainty and instability were Gen’s.

There was nothing Root could do other than encourage Gen, no matter how reluctant she was, to make the best of their situation and try not to sound like a hypocrite as she was doing it. They both hated this place; but, for Gen at least, Root thought it could at least become tolerable for her here.

As they worked, Root kept mostly out of the two girls’ way, hiding in living room with her laptop on the coffee table and the news on mute on the TV. She wasn’t really paying any attention to it and the sound wasn’t needed for her to know when they had started discussing the heatwave currently burning its way across South Texas. She could _feel_ it enough. This inferno wasn’t ending anytime soon and it was determined to take down forests and cause droughts all across the South before it even considered relenting. Not even the doors and the windows open could keep the sweat from dripping down Root’s skin.

“Hey, Root?” said Gen, appearing at the side of the couch. Root tore her gaze away from the image of forest fires on the TV and looked at her. “Can you google the Battle of Shiloh for us? I need to check the date it ended.”

But Root had her own personal google in her ear and the Machine answered Gen’s question before Root could even think about reaching for her laptop.

She been doing that more and more lately, the Machine; giving Root the odd piece of information to make her day a little easier. Reminding her of Gen’s dentist appointment, the number for the Chinese place because Root hadn’t bothered saving it into her phone. Little things. Scraps of dialogue that was minuscule compared to the conversations they used to have. At one time, the Machine would have talked in Root’s ear all night long and Root had learned to take comfort in it, until, during her year away, when the chatter had turned into scolding and begging and Root could take it no longer.

The Machine had gone silent and Root had never been able to find comfort in the lack of noise.

She couldn’t even now. Bishop was _too_ quiet. At least New York was noisy and she had been busy. Now she had nothing and she couldn’t decide whether or not if this was an olive branch from the Machine, a way of testing the waters. It was, in a way, almost like the Machine _missed_ her. A year ago or more, Root wouldn’t have doubted that thought and she wondered if it was possible. If the Machine was capable of feeling that aching chasm of loneliness that was so violent to Root whenever she thought about that year and all that she had left behind in New York.

“April 9th, 1862,” said Root, automatically parroting the Machine. Gen glanced at her in surprise. “We did the same project when I was in school,” she lied quickly. “It’s the only thing from it I can remember.”

“Oh,” said Gen. “Thanks.”

“Are you guys almost done?” Root asked, deftly changing the subject.

“Hm, not yet,” said Gen. “This is taking _way_ longer than I thought it would.”

“Does that mean you’re friend is staying for dinner?” Root asked.

“She’s not my friend,” said Gen. “We’re just doing this project together.”

Root tried not to roll her eyes. “Well is she staying or not?”

“I dunno,” said Gen with a shrug. “I don’t really want to spend all weekend on this thing.”

“I’ll order pizza then,” said Root, hopping to her feet to go hunt down the menu. Sighing loudly Gen followed her back through to the kitchen and Root couldn’t tell if she was bitter about having to share food (sometimes she really could be as bad as Shaw about that) or if she really didn’t want to spend any more time with Meg than she had to.

“Hey Meg, do you want to stay for dinner?” Gen asked dutifully, taking the seat opposite her and adding the date she had gotten from Root to their timeline.

Meg glanced up from the textbook her face was buried in. She was a strange, wiry kid with long, tangled locks of red fiery hair and freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Shy in the way that she averted her eyes from whoever she was speaking to. And when she was speaking, the mumbled words were hard to decipher. With Gen, she was a little better. But Gen was the same age and, although Gen was more outgoing at first glance, there was a similarity in the way that they both kept to themselves. Misfits together.

Root was suddenly reminded of another couple of misfits. Sam had been the shy one; Hanna more chatty and always smiling and polite to people. Whereas Sam avoided people as best she could. She didn’t like to be noticed. She was always afraid that if people did, they would ask questions, too many and ones she had no answer for. No answer, at least, that would get the nosey residents of Bishop to leave her alone.

Meg was much like Sam had been. Nervous and desperate to remain invisible. Even her presence - scrawny appearance and clothes, faded and so obviously hand-me-downs - was familiar to Root. She was out of place in this kitchen and she looked it. But Root _felt_ it more than that. Root didn’t belong here. This girl didn’t belong here.

None of them did.

And she remembered suddenly, unexpectedly, another kitchen, several decades ago.

Sam had never felt comfortable in Hanna Frey’s house, but Hanna had a way of putting her at ease, of making Sam feel like she belonged. Hanna was a year and a half older than Sam and Sam had been completely in awe of her. A grade ahead, Hanna had found Sam in the library struggling with her English homework the day they had met. Offering to help, Hanna had ended up doing most of the work. Even now, Root was sure of that; because stunned by this older girl taking notice of her, _talking_ to her, Sam hadn’t been able to do much beyond stare.

Not much changed in the months to follow. Although Sam did manage to tone down her staring a bit. Especially on those rare occasions when they weren’t at the library but in Hanna’s house. Sam didn’t like doing it then, in Hanna’s big, open kitchen where her parents could walk in at any moment. In the library at least there was always a table in a quiet corner, hidden in shadows, where Sam would always insist they should sit and work or read or, in Sam’s case, simple stare as Hanna did all those things.

Meg wasn’t quite at Sam Groves’ level of staring intensity, but for the rest of her, the comparison was there. And when she realised it, when it was all Root could see, an invisible wire seemed to wrap around her throat and she couldn’t breathe.

She was glad of something to do and quickly rummaged through the drawers in search of the takeout menu, disguising her sweaty and shaking hands.

“What do you like on your pizza?” Root asked and was surprised her voice sounded normal. Perhaps she was fooling herself though and decided she didn’t like the way Gen squinted at her through suspicious eyes.

“Pizza?” said Meg, like she had never heard of it before.

“Yeah,” said Gen, sounding more sarcastic than helpful. “You know, the round thing with cheese and stuff on top.”

“I know what it is,” said Meg. “We just don’t have it very much.”

“We have it _all_ the time,” said Gen with an eye roll.

“No we don’t,” said Root, smirking now that she had finally found the menu. “Sometimes we order Chinese or go to the Mexican place.”

“Don’t you ever cook?” said Meg, sounding amazed.

“If you count boxed macaroni burnt to the bottom of the pot as cooking,” said Gen, “then yes.”

“Hey!” said Root, feeling affronted when Meg giggled. “Just hurry up and decide what you want on your pizza.”

After several minutes bickering over the menu, Gen decided for all of them. One pepperoni and one four cheese special. Root vetoed the sides. There was plenty of junk food in the cupboard if they got hungry later. It was what she got for letting Gen help with the grocery shopping.

“Your mom’s so cool,” Meg muttered to Gen, keeping her voice low as she bent over her textbook once again. But the sound of it carried across the kitchen and Root, no matter how much she would have rather not heard, or how much she wished she wasn’t witness to the conversation that followed, could not hide from it. Her cheeks burned hot and no doubt would be smarting bright red on her usually pale face. She kept her back turned, phone pressed to her ear and tried desperately not to listen.

“Oh,” said Gen with the casualness of someone who had explained this a hundred times before. “She’s not my mom. She’s just looking after me.”

“Looking after you?”

“Yeah,” said Gen. “My real mom’s in –”

“Gen,” Root warned and glanced over her shoulder to find Gen glancing down sheepishly at her work.

She was aware, horribly, that they had never discussed the cover they were supposed to be maintaining in great detail. But it had to be apparent to Gen what it was. That first day at school and faced with that particular name on the register… Gen Groves.

Root cringed just thinking about it. Not because she didn’t care about Gen. It was because she care _too_ much. And that name, everything it stood for, wasn’t something Root wanted Gen to be associated with.

“It’s complicated,” Gen mumbled eventually to her friend.

“Oh,” said Meg, frowning in confusion, but she didn’t push the subject and didn’t seem like someone who would take it any further and start snooping. It would fall from her mind, forgotten. Besides, even if she did get curious, who would she ask? The girl had less friends than Gen did and, in this town, Gen had none.

“Well, she’s still cool,” Meg muttered when she thought Root was no longer listening.

Root smiled. She had never been deemed “cool” by anyone before. Mostly just referred to as a nerd (mainly by Shaw), geek (also by Shaw) and freak (again, sometimes by Shaw), but never in the cold, harsh way those Bishop kids had done all those years ago.

It was a new experience for Root and not one she was sure she could live up to. Gen didn’t seem to agree. But, then again, she thought cartoons on her sneakers were cool, so who was she to judge?

The pizza place finally picked up and Root quickly put their order in. They had ordered from them so often that the guy on the other end of the line knew Root’s voice and address off by heart.

“Dinner should be here in about forty minutes,” Root said as she put her phone away. “Do you want to call your parents and tell them you’ll be home late?”

Meg shrugged. “It’s okay. My dad doesn’t usually get home until really late anyway. He won’t notice.”

There was a sadness to the way Meg spoke that Root recognised all too well, a shame she was trying so desperately to hide as she kept her head down, avoided their gazes, and let the words tumble out of her mouth like they weren’t meant to be spoken at all. Sam Groves had been the same whenever anyone asked about her home life and Root could guess that whatever reasons Meg’s father had for staying out so late, they weren’t good and, perhaps, neither was him coming home at the end of it.

If she were so inclined, Root could easily find out. The right question in the right ear, the right mouth spouting tales. The gossip Bishop was so good at circulating that was just beneath the surface of the peaceful town façade… Root could easily tap into it. But Root wasn’t so inclined. If Meg wanted them to know, then she would tell them in her own time. Information was valuable to someone like Root but, some things… some things weren’t meant to be dug up without permission. Some things were meant to be told or never spoken at all.

Hanna had never pushed, never gossiped. She didn’t know a thing, beyond her own suspicions and what she might have unwittingly heard from the eagerly gossiping townsfolk, about Sam’s mother. Not until Sam had told her, in a breathless rush one night as they camped beneath the stars in Hanna’s backyard. She had been nervous, sick with it, about Hanna’s response. But Hanna, instead of asking dumb questions or making hurtful assumptions, had simply filed the information away as another fact about her friend. Most importantly, she had _listened_. She had always listened to Sam and always seemed to know what to say or do to make Sam feel a hundred times better about whatever was going on at home that particular week.

And Root would do that now. Wait and listen to this kid who she saw so much of her younger self in, despite only having met her a few hours ago. She knew how toxic this town could be. Shielding Gen from it was already difficult, but she thought she could shield this kid from it too, if only a little. She could do what Hanna had done for her all those years ago. Provide a safe haven of sorts, just for a few hours a week. But it was something and it might be enough to help this kid survive.

After dinner, with their project all but complete barring a few additions they decided they could make at school, Root and Gen drove Meg home. Root had insisted through Meg’s protests that she would be fine walking on her own, mainly because Gen was watching, eyebrows raised and Root knew she couldn’t treat this kid any differently.

The moment Meg mumbled her address to Root from the backseat of the car, Root knew right away why she had been so reluctant for a ride home.

Since coming to Bishop three months ago, Root had successfully managed to avoid this part of town. Technically, it wasn’t even within Bishop’s town limits. Hence why most people referred to it as the “edge of town” and usually not in a fond, I’d-really-like-to-go-there sort of way.

The single street was dark by the time Root pulled into it. In the last fifteen years, no one had saw fit to install any street lights. Illuminated by the car’s headlights and the odd glow from the few scattered, aging and crumbling houses, Root drove slowly towards the end of the street.

“You live _here_?” said Gen in surprise and quickly shut her mouth when Root shot her a glare through the darkness of the car. But her shock was unsurprising. Their two-storey house, although small, was like a five bedroomed mansion compared to the shacks on this street. Most of them were one bedroomed, converted from old trailers back in the seventies, made permanent fixtures to the town of Bishop whether the residents liked it or not. Some had been extended over the years, but what could be said for all of them was nothing more than distaste and _thank God I don’t live here_. Or, at least for Root, _thank God I don’t live here anymore._

Root pulled to a stop at the end of the street and Meg got out of the car with a mumbled, “Thank you.” With her head ducked down and her hair covering her face, it was hard to tell her expression, but Root thought she might be red underneath all those locks.

“Why would anyone want to live here?” Gen said in disgust. She was staring at Meg’s house, the white paint peeling from the wooden boards by the front door, but Root thought she might have been talking about the town as a whole.

“Sometimes you don’t get a choice, kiddo,” said Root, still staring at the door Meg had disappeared through a few moments ago. She didn’t dare turn her head. She didn’t want to look towards her left, at the spot where her childhood home was. But she couldn’t stop the tilt of her head, couldn’t stop herself from looking.

It was gone.

Or Root had forgotten where it was. But she couldn’t have. She had spent too long in that house for it to have been entirely erased from her mind.

“Root?” said Gen. “Are you okay?”

She was still staring at the empty space, had been for a while and she forced her eyes to look at Gen.

“I’m fine.”

“Did…” Gen began, nervously licking her lips. “Did you live here?”

Root nodded.

“Oh,” said Gen. “I thought…”

“You pictured me in a house like the one we’re in now?” Root guessed.

Gen nodded, biting her lip. “And I thought living in an apartment building with a bunch of drug dealers was bad,” she mumbled.

“It was,” said Root. “Don’t belittle what you had to go through just because…”

“Because what?” Gen asked.

“Because other people have it worse,” said Root and didn’t know if she was talking about herself or Meg or what had happened to Hanna all those years ago. “I had this friend once…”

The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them and Root suddenly found herself telling Gen all about Hanna. How they had become friends, all those long hours in the library. How Hanna’s home life was less than perfect and yet Sam Groves had always envied it. And when Hanna came to school with bruises all up and down her arms, Sam had thought her problems with her mother were nothing in comparison.

Hanna hadn’t let her believe that for long. Hanna had always taken each blow with her chin up high and her heart light and had never let Sam feel like the words out of her mother’s mouth, on days so bad Sam feared they might never end, weren’t just as harsh and painful. That they didn’t leave scars and bruises like the ones on Hanna’s skin left by her dad’s fists.

She told Gen about how Hanna had disappeared from the library one night and never came back.

“I’m sorry,” said Gen.

“It’s okay,” said Root quickly. She had said too much and yet had left so much out. But she thought she could see understanding in Gen’s eyes. She smiled at Gen, something small and weak and put the car into reverse. She didn’t want to talk about Hanna anymore. She didn’t want Gen to know what she had done to make Trent Russell pay for what he had done. “Meg seemed nice,” she said, her voice sounding far away.

“She’s okay,” said Gen non-committedly.

“You know,” said Root and now that they were away from the street and back on the main road, her chest felt a little lighter. “It wouldn’t kill you to make a friend here.”

Even with her eyes still on the road, Root could easily imagine the look Gen was giving her: doubtful. Borderline scandalous.

“You can’t shut yourself off from people, kiddo.”

“You do,” said Gen. When Root glanced at her, she was staring down at her hands, biting her lip.

“Yeah, well…” Root muttered. “You don’t want to be like me.”

After a few minutes, nothing but the sound of the car engine and the stillness of the Bishop night, Gen said, “You aren’t so bad.”

“Cool, even,” Root smirked.

“Well I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” said Gen, but she was grinning now too. “But, I suppose… it wouldn’t be so bad to have some to eat lunch with.”

“See,” said Root, pulling into their driveway, “it’s not such a bad idea after all.”

“Yeah, well, that’s easy for you to say,” Gen mumbled as she got out of the car. “You aren’t the one making friends with the weird kid.”

“Hey,” said Root, climbing out of driver’s side and slamming her door shut. “There’s nothing wrong with being the weird kid.”

Gen giggled. “Why? Were you the weird kid?”

“No,” said Root, frowning as she unlocked the front door and gestured for Gen to go in ahead of her.

“Oh my God, you totally were,” said Gen, looking delighted. “And here you are trying to pretend you’re cool.”

Root rolled her eyes. “Shut up,” she said lightly and Gen laughed all the way upstairs and into her bedroom in response.

*

Although Gen went about it with an air of reluctance, she began to spend more and more time with Meg over the next few days. She seemed happier for it, less tense and, as a result, Root spent her days feeling a little more at ease too. Now that she didn’t have to worry about this one aspect of Gen’s school life, when she got used to Gen walking to school by herself with nothing bad happening, Root learned to loosen up a bit.

Without the worry to occupy her, however, she quickly came to remember one of the major faults of living in a small town.

Boredom.

And while it was amusing to hack her way into top government agencies just for the hell of it, even that grew quickly tiresome. Besides, she was supposed to be being careful and even the Machine warned her against rummaging around too much and getting noticed. She could code, but was lacking the inspiration and the motivation.

The last time Root had this much free time with nothing to do but let the boredom turn her brain into sludge, she had been locked in a cage. At least Harold had a large enough book collection to keep her entertained during the long days and even longer nights.

But even reading these days was difficult. She couldn’t concentrate for much longer than a few sentences and the book she had bought the last time they had been up to Corpus Christi, the one that had been Hanna’s favourite, sat mostly untouched on her nightstand.

On the hottest of days, Root wondered when she had become such a cliché. Sipping iced tea with the windows open as she watched infomercials on the TV to keep her mind occupied. Her mother used to do this, she realised one afternoon, the tea tasting too sweet to her tongue and the enthusiastic voice on the TV making her head hurt. Sam had come home most days after school to find her mother lying on the couch, the TV blaring. Her mother used to watch soap operas, if only to marvel at the lives depicted so much harsher than hers.

Although Sam hadn’t known, not until she was much older, not until after Hanna, but her mother’s iced tea was more of the Long Island variety. It wasn’t a drinking problem - and if it was, it was just one more thing to add to their list of problems - but it did make Irene Groves drowsy in the afternoons and by early evening she would have passed out on the couch, snoring quietly and Sam had to fight her into bed. Or, sometimes, leave her where she was with a blanket thrown haphazardly over her body.

Root wasn’t quite at that level of boredom yet, but it didn’t take her long to switch from infomercials to the most dramatic of daytime TV viewing.

It was the movies, the dumb and cheesy ones with the happy ending, that she liked to watch. There was always one on every day, right after lunch. Root never missed it. She would watch, making fun of the characters in her head, but by the end of it, with the happy ending achieved against all odds, Root would turn it off, eyes burning painfully.

Real life didn’t work that. There were no happy endings. And especially not for her.

But she kept on watching them anyway, her guilty little pleasure. That afternoon, Root sipped her iced tea, frowning at the TV. There was a woman and a ghost and beyond that… Root had lost track of the plot about ten minutes in. So she was a little relieved of the phone call, when it came, to give her mind a break from it.

The unknown number had concerned her and she thought it must be Gen’s school. She had been on her best behaviour since she had gotten caught skipping class, but now that she was no longer in detention for it, now that her punishment was over, Root worried that she had gone back to the creek to hang out with the older kids.

“Hello?” said Root, sounding breathless as she leaned over to put her unfinished iced tea on the coffee table.

“Sam?”

Root flinched. “Who is this?” she asked, a hard edge to her voice. If it was someone from Luehrs Junior High then they would have addressed her as “Miss Groves”.

“Uh, it’s Angie,” said the voice and Root could hear the familiar Texan drawl she had found so easy to slip back into herself. “From the bookstore…”

“I remember,” said Root, smiling as she leant back into the couch cushions.

“Well I’m just calling to say your comic book’s arrived,” said Angie. “If you’re still interested, you can come get it whenever. I only work on Wednesdays and Saturdays though. Not that that’s really necessary,” she added quickly. “I mean I don’t have to be here. Someone else can sort it for you. I just meant - I’m rambling. Sorry. I do that.”

Root struggled to hold in a laugh. “That’s okay. Saturday sounds good.”

“Great,” said Angie, sounding thrilled. Root felt her cheeks redden at that. She wasn’t used to it. The eagerness and attention. Angie genuinely sounded like she was looking forward to seeing her and the most Root had interacted with anyone around here lately was to get an earful from Gen’s principal. It was different… nice.

It was normal.

And Root had no idea what do with that.

*

After months, the heat finally gave out over South Texas late Friday night, giving into one of the worst rainstorms the region had seen in a long time. Root didn’t sleep well that night, unused to the sound of thunder after so long. The flashes of lightning illuminating her bedroom, followed by the deep rumbling that sounded like the Earth was going to tear itself apart, kept her awake. With her one good ear, she listened to the sound of the rain beating against the window pane, in time with the beat of her heart.

The last time she had seen rain was New York and she wondered if it was raining there too. Probably snowing, actually, when she thought about it. New York had terrible winters but Root had always been fascinated by the snow. She liked the way it settled over everything, trapping the world in a little white cocoon.

But snow, like most things, was deceptive in how it looked and Root could never stand to be out in the cold for very long. She preferred to watch the snow from indoors; but that didn’t mean that, on occasion, she hadn’t found herself outside, trying to catch snowflakes with her tongue.

It had amused her and she remembered now, how she had rolled her eyes fondly at Shaw when she grumbled something about pollution and Root getting sick and _for God sake if you are going to play in the snow at least make it a little interesting._

Which is how Root had found herself, a few minutes later, with a snowball smacking the back of her head and ice dribbling down her neck.

Shaw had been an unsurprisingly difficult target. Small and light on her feet, she had easily avoided Root’s retaliation. But Root caught up to her eventually, breathless and clinging to her, crushing snow that no longer resembled a ball into Shaw’s face, red from the cold. Root had laughed, hard, kissing the scowl from Shaw’s face and promising a hot dinner and an even hotter experience between the sheets later to make it up to her.

That had been a few months after they had stopped Samaritan, when Root had been spending more and more time at Shaw’s place than anywhere else.

Those days were long over now though. So far into the past, so faded, that Root was half afraid she had imagined them.

It didn’t feel real. None of it did. Shaw, what they had together… sometimes Root wondered if it had all just been in her head. Maybe if it had been it would have been easier, less painful.

For all of them.

It certainly would be for Root at least. She couldn’t even think about Shaw without it hurting, of being reminded of everything she had done. What she had walked away from all those months ago and how, if she hadn’t, if things would have been different. Maybe if Root had stayed then Shaw would never have went off to Moscow on her own. Maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess and Root wouldn’t be stuck here, the last place on Earth she had ever wanted to be again.

But she was here, stuck and alone. There was Gen, but Root was careful around her. She had told Gen about Hanna, but only after three months of letting fear eat away at her. Gen had been right; Root was closing herself off from everyone. They both were.

But Root had been doing that her whole life. It was what she was best at, after killing.

The rain didn’t stop and after hours of not sleeping, Root finally got out of bed.

It was early and she made sure to keep her footsteps light as she moved about the house. She didn’t want to wake Gen too early on a Saturday. Showered and dressed, Root spent the morning sipping coffee and staring at the rain through the kitchen window until the sun rose and its rays broke through the clouds. It was a dull, grey morning and she wondered if the day would be much the same. But by the time Gen eventually got up, the rain had stopped, the skies had cleared and their drive up to Corpus Christi was a little more pleasant than Root had been anticipating.

The bookstore was the only thing on the agenda today and the forty minute drive into the city was just long enough for Root’s nerves to build up. She couldn’t explain to herself why and perhaps didn’t want to. It was easier to ignore it and smile and pretend to be engrossed in the volumes of books she let her eyes lazily trail over once they arrived. Gen had headed straight upstairs to the comic book section, leaving Root to her own devices.

“ _Never Trust a Scoundrel_?” said a familiar voice behind Root and she tried not to jump. “Didn’t think that was your kind of thing.”

“It’s not,” said Root, quickly snatching her hand away from the book she had been absently staring at. The front cover depicted a half-naked man in an embrace with an equally naked woman. Definitely not Root’s kind of thing at all. “I was just…” she began, turning around to find Angie smirking at her with a curiously raised eyebrow. “Looking at it for a friend,” Root finished lamely.

“Right,” said Angie sceptically.

“Do you sneak up on all your customers?”

“Just the pretty ones,” said Angie confidently.

Inexplicably, Root found herself blushing. She quickly ducked her head, turning in the direction of the stairs.

“I should go find Gen,” Root muttered.

“Okay,” said Angie, and odd lilt to her voice. She sounded almost disappointed.

Not knowing how to respond to that, Root headed for the stairs, uncomfortably aware that Angie was following her closely. The nerves that had been tightening into a knot on the drive up here seemed to unravel all at once, leaving her feeling nauseous and desperate to get out of there as soon as possible.

Unsurprisingly, she found Gen with her face buried behind a comic book; but when Root approached, her gaze lifted upwards and she smiled at them both.

“I think I’m going to get this one too,” said Gen. “I saved up some of my allowance.”

“Good choice,” said Angie, staring at the cover. “I’ll go get your other one.” She disappeared through a door behind the cash register marked _Staff Only_ and instead of feeling relieved at her moments reprieve, Root could only stand awkwardly, staring after her.

“Are you getting something?” Gen asked.

“What?” said Root, tearing her gaze away from the door. She found Gen grinning at her and narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said. “I’m not.”

“Shame,” said Gen with a shrug and hid behind her comic book once again.

Angie returned a few minutes later, carrying Gen’s comic book. She let Gen inspect it and once Gen was satisfied, declaring it was the right thing, she handed it back over along with the Birds of Prey: Volume 2 she was also getting.

Root left her to pay, disappearing amongst the bookshelves, out of sight. The store wasn’t all that busy for a Saturday morning. Perhaps the rain had put people off from venturing outside of their homes.

“Ready to go?” said Root when Gen finally appeared at her side. Gen nodded, following Root as she headed for the stairs. “How about we go see a movie or something, since we’re already here?”

Instead of answering her question, Gen said, “You like her, don’t you?”

Halfway down the stairs, Root froze. “Who?”

“Angie,” said Gen, rolling her eyes. “She likes you too, by the way. She was totally checking you out.”

“I –That’s not –” Root shook her head. “I mean, I’m not… When?”

Gen grinned. “When you guys were coming up the stairs for a start. You should ask her out.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Root turned around to face Gen properly.

“That’s not a good idea,” said Root.

“Because of Shaw?” Gen asked.

“No,” said Root. They were over; Root had accepted that when they were in Moscow. But then Shaw had come back. Shaw had _kissed_ her and Root had allowed herself to hope that things could be like they once were. But she couldn’t think like that anymore. The past was the past and Root needed to accept that there would be no more snow ball fights, no more kissing or anything else ever again. “I just…”

“You can’t shut yourself off from people, Root,” said Gen and Root felt annoyed at having her own words thrown back at her. But Gen smiled softly and Root knew she wasn’t saying this as a means to get her back. “If I have to make a friend, then _you_ have to make a friend.”

Root bit her lip and shook her head like this was nothing but some crazy scheme. And it _was_ crazy. There were supposed to be in hiding. Root was… Root wasn’t used to this sort of thing, but she couldn’t deny she was attracted to Angie. She still had eyes, even if her heart lay somewhere else.

“What am I supposed to even say?” said Root.

“I dunno,” said Gen. “Ask her out for coffee or something. Haven’t you ever done this before?”

“Not really,” Root admitted. She didn’t do dating. She hadn’t done people in general before she had found the Machine.

“Oh,” said Gen. “Well, just try not to screw it up.” She patted Root encouragingly on the elbow and nudged her back towards the stairs.

“Thanks,” said Root sardonically. “Very helpful.”

The climb seemed longer this time and Root could feel Gen’s eyes on her, making sure she didn’t chicken out, run away like the adrenaline pumping through her veins was encouraging her to do. Angie was dealing with another customer at the cash desk and Root waited, watching until they were finished, before approaching. She went unnoticed; Angie too occupied with sorting a pile of hardbacks behind the till, sticking a price sticker on each one. Root hovered awkwardly, her mouth gone dry and her eyes staring as the light’s overhead shone gold specks in Angie’s light brown hair.

“Hi,” said Root.

Angie turned around, a smile on her face that was clearly intended for customers given its forcedness. “Oh. Hi. Did you need something else?”

“No,” said Root. “I mean yes. Sort of.” She shook her head, feeling ridiculous and wondering how she had managed to let a thirteen year old talk her into this. “Would you maybe want to have coffee with me sometime?” Root said quickly. Angie stared at her in surprise. “Unless I’m reading this completely wrong,” she added, when Angie said nothing.

“Oh,” said Angie. “No.”

“No?” said Root. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really, and wondered if Gen had been seeing things too. Perhaps Angie was just being nice and Root was just a fool to think it was anything else. She felt like a fool and was sure her cheeks were burning from it. The embarrassment, the disappointment, lodged heavily in her throat and she couldn’t say anything else. Couldn’t move either.

“Oh no,” said Angie quickly. “I meant you’re not reading it wrong. _Definitely_ not reading it wrong.”

“Oh,” said Root and now that she was aware of it, it was hard to miss the way Angie was staring at her; hard and with an appreciative glint in her eyes.

“So… yes,” said Angie. Now she was the one with pink cheeks.

“What?” said Root stupidly.

Angie smiled at her and moved a little closer, as far as the cashier’s desk between them would allow.

“Yes, I would like to have coffee with you sometime,” said Angie.

“Oh, okay,” said Root, finding herself matching Angie’s smile.

“Here,” said Angie, biting her lip and grabbing a pen so she could scrawl down a number on a piece of paper. “Call me. Or text. Or whatever.”

“Okay,” said Root, taking the slip of paper and staring at it for a moment. She wished her tongue would cooperate, that her voice would allow her more than monosyllables and one word responses. She felt like an idiot and wished she had never started this whole thing.

But that was the most she seemed capable of at the moment and she was glad when another customer appeared behind her, pile of books in one hand and she had an excuse to leave. She tried not to rush and look like even more of a fool than she already was, but she ended up taking the stairs two at a time anyway.

“How did it go?” said Gen when Root reached the bottom of the stairs.

“People actually do that all the time?” said Root. “That was horrible.”

“What did she say?” asked Gen, following Root outside. “She didn’t say no, did she?”

“No,” said Root, grinning now. “She said yes.”

“Really?” Gen exclaimed in surprise. “Wow. I thought you were going to screw it up.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” said Root, rolling her eyes as she took Gen by the elbow and led her through the swarm of people outside. She couldn’t help the single thought swimming in her head though.

That she just hadn’t screwed it up _yet._


	28. Part 3: Chapter 28

_Bishop, Texas_

“Root?” Gen called, knocking gently on the bedroom door. “Have you seen my English homework?”

When Root, otherwise occupied, didn’t respond right away, Gen ventured further into the room. Root caught her reflection in the mirror from where she was standing in front of it and quickly turned away from scrutinising herself.

“What are you doing?” Gen asked, a smile playing at her lips.

“Did you try the kitchen?” said Root instead of answering. “For your homework.”

“Oh yeah,” said Gen, positively grinning with delight now. “Today is your big date, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a date,” said Root. “It’s just coffee.”

“Right,” said Gen, sounding unconvinced. “Is that why you are freaking out about what to wear?”

“I’m not,” said Root, turning back to the full length mirror to glare at her outfit. “I just don’t want it to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“Then stop trying too hard,” said Gen, moving towards Root’s wardrobe. She inspected the clothes on the hangers for a moment, lips pursed in thought, before pulling a thin, blue sweater out. “Here,” she said, thrusting it into Root’s hands, “wear this. Blue’s totally your colour.”

Root frowned at the sweater in her hands. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Gen. “Now give me five bucks for lunch. You forgot to go food shopping again.” She stuck her hand out expectantly, a mischievous look on her face. “You should probably go after your date.”

“It’s not a date,” Root insisted, slapping Gen’s hand away lightly. “Just –”

“Coffee,” Gen finished, rolling her eyes. “Yeah yeah, you’ve said. Lunch money?”

“My wallet is downstairs,” said Root, scowling. “Don’t take all my cash.”

“I won’t,” Gen called over her shoulder as she disappeared out of the room, leaving Root to change her outfit for the fifth time that morning.

Gen was right; blue really was her colour, Root thought as she stared at herself in the mirror once again. She looked good, but she didn’t look like she was _trying_ to look good. Or, at least, she didn’t think so anyway.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could do about the bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep and Root just hoped Angie wouldn’t notice. Because as much as she tried to insist to Gen that this wasn’t date, Root still felt nervous all the same.

Dating wasn’t something Root had ever done. Not even with Shaw, barring that one time not long after they had destroyed Samaritan. Their little stint at being normal hadn’t worked out to well. It wasn’t _them_.

And here Root was, trying it again. With someone else. Someone normal. _That_ terrified Root more than anything else. She had never done normal in her life. Who was she to go and try it now?

“Maybe I should phone and cancel,” said Root once she had finally made it downstairs and found Gen in the kitchen, packing her bag for school.

Gen paused, piece of toast dangling out of her mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

“But –”

“Root,” said Gen, zipping her backpack up and hauling it over her shoulder, “you promised.”

“This isn’t like I promised to take you shopping or something,” Root protested. “I’m just… I don’t do dating.”

“Well good,” said Gen, swallowing down the last of her toast with a smile.

Root frowned. “Good?”

“Yeah,” said Gen. “Because it’s not a date. So you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Sighing, Root thought about how good Gen was getting these days at throwing her words back in her face.

“What am I even supposed to talk about?”

“I dunno,” said Gen. “Talk about computers or something. Maybe not talk about how you used to kill people for a living though,” she added thoughtfully.

“Right,” said Root, rolling her eyes.

“Have fun,” said Gen, grinning as she headed out the door.

_Fun,_ Root thought. She hadn’t had that in a long time.

*

Arranging to meet for coffee in Corpus Christi had seemed like a good idea at the time. There wasn’t anywhere in Bishop to go for coffee anyway. But the drive allowed the doubts to solidify in Root’s head and by the time she got to the café, running about ten minutes late, she had just about talked herself out of going inside.

The small café was quiet on this weekday morning and when Root looked through the big glass windows she spotted Angie at a table in the middle. Her hair was down, the bouncing curls looking longer than Root remembered. It was strange seeing her out of her bookstore uniform, but Root liked the plaid shirt she was wearing. It suited her.

The fact that she liked it, that it sent a flutter in her chest all the way down to her toes, made Root freeze. She hovered out on the street, ignoring the people that had to side step out of her way with a glower, and tried to will her legs into moving. She didn’t know where, just _anywhere_.

Anywhere but here.

She couldn’t do this. She didn’t know _how_ to do this and she knew it would only end up a disaster if she tried it.

Leaving and pretending this never happened, never venturing back to the bookstore again (or at least not on Wednesdays and Saturdays when Angie worked there) was the best solution for everyone. But just when Root had made her decision, when she was able to move her feet again, Angie looked up and spotted her through the window.

She waved and smiled, warm and inviting and Root found her feet carrying her inside the café instead of back towards her car.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Root, the words falling out of her mouth automatically as she took the seat opposite Angie. “There was traffic.”

“That’s okay,” said Angie, still smiling at Root. “I would have ordered for you, but I didn’t know if you drank coffee or if you were one of those weird chai tea people.”

“Coffee’s fine,” said Root when Angie gestured one of the waitresses over to their table.

“So…” said Angie once Root’s order had been placed and they were alone again.

“So,” said Root, glancing around the café and avoiding Angie’s eye.

On the walls, paintings and sketches by local artists filled the space. Root could see a small orange sticker underneath some, red under a few. Price tags she thought and perhaps indicating what was already sold.

“This is a nice place,” said Root because she didn’t know what else to say. “You can buy the art?”

Angie shrugged and Root could feel the weight of her gaze on her as she determinedly looked away. “I guess so. You like art?”

“Not really,” Root murmured and glanced at her hands resting on the table.

“Then what do you like?” said Angie. She sounded genuinely interested and Root had no idea how to respond to that.

“I don’t know,” said Root and thought about saying: _guns and violence and an AI God I’m currently giving the cold shoulder._ “Computers,” said Root instead.

“Oh,” said Angie. “Is that what you do? Fix computers?”

“Sometimes,” said Root and was glad of the distraction when the waitress returned with her coffee. Root wrapped her hands around the mug, the heat of it burning her skin and stared down into the watery depths.

“Well maybe you could take a look at my problematic Mac someday,” Angie suggested hopefully.

“Yeah,” said Root without looking up. “Sure.”

They lapsed into a silence so long that Root was sure her coffee must have gone cold. When she finally forced herself to look up, Angie was staring out of window and biting her lip so hard Root thought it was surely about to start bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” said Root. “I’m not very good at this.”

Angie turned away from the window, releasing her lip so she could give Root a small smile. “You don’t have to be good at it, Sam. You just have to… want to be here.”

“I do want to be here,” said Root, glancing down at the coffee she still hadn’t touched. She thought about her dilemma out on the street and knew she was lying to the both of them. “I just…” Root began. “I don’t have a very good track record with this sort of thing. My last relationship – if you can call it that – didn’t exactly end well.”

“I’m sorry,” said Angie, sounding sincere. “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” said Root.

“But I’m not exactly looking for a relationship,” said Angie. “We’re just having coffee. There’s no need to rush into anything.”

“No?” said Root.

“Well,” said Angie with a wolfish smirk on her face. “Not unless you want to.”

Her eyebrow quirked suggestively and Root felt that fluttery feeling again. She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of this kind of flirting and innuendo. Usually she dished it out and she found she rather liked the change, the way it made her feel lifted up inside.

“Thought this was just coffee?” said Root, hiding her grin behind her mug. Her coffee was still warm, but bitter as it slid down her throat.

“It is,” said Angie. “Mainly because I don’t have time for anything else. I need to go into work later.”

“Work?” said Root. “I thought you only worked in the bookstore Wednesday’s and Saturdays.”

“I do,” said Angie, smiling like she was glad Root had remembered that about her. “I meant my other work. At the university.”

“You work at the university?” said Root, surprised. She hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“Yeah, on my PhD,” Angie explained. “The bookstore’s just a way to supplement my income. Academia doesn’t exactly pay great,” she added thoughtfully.

“What’s your PhD about?” Root asked.

“Laser spectrometry mostly,” said Angie.

Root grinned. “You’re a science geek?”

Angie rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Wow,” said Root and couldn’t contain a chuckle. “I was not expecting that at all.”

“Yeah well… laugh it up, computer nerd,” said Angie, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Hey,” said Root, wiping the smile from her face. “I think it’s cute.”

Angie raised an eyebrow and Root realised what she had just said.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Root muttered, shaking her head as she closed her eyes and wished Angie would stop looking at her like she had just proposed to her on the first date or said something equally as embarrassing.

“You think I’m cute?” said Angie.

Root looked away, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. “Maybe.”

“Just maybe?” said Angie, but she was still smiling. “Okay, I’ll take it. But only because I have to go.”

“Go?” said Root. She felt like she had just gotten here and could only watch as Angie drained the last of her coffee and gathered up her things.

“Yeah,” said Angie. “Those lasers won’t turn on themselves.”

“Right,” said Root.

“But, um,” said Angie as she stood up. “I’d like to do this again sometime.”

“Oh?” said Root. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” said Angie, smiling as she walked away. “Oh and…” she said, pausing beside Root and leaning down until she was at level with her. “You’re not so bad at this after all.”

Root wasn’t expecting the lips pressed against her cheek and was stunned into silence. By the time she could move again, Angie was already gone.

*

She should have known, really, that Gen wasn’t going to let her get away with keeping her date (because she really couldn’t keep on insisting that it was anything but that now) to herself. But she was completely unprepared for Gen pestering her the minute she got home from school and Root had no choice but to tell her.

The “it was okay” Root tried to fend her off with just wasn’t cutting it, however, and Root thought for one horrible moment that she was going to have to relay every single last detail to Gen before she would be left alone. She was mercifully saved by her cell phone ringing.

Root had it out of her pocket and into her hand for only a few moments before Gen snatched it away with a grin on her face, answering it for her.

“Hey, Angie,” said Gen brightly. She shot Root a triumphant look that was in no way deterred by the glare and mouthed “don’t you dare” Root directed at her. “Yeah, it’s Gen,” she added, hopping out of Root’s reach. She moved fast and zig-zagged her way into the safety of the kitchen. “This Saturday? Nope, we’re not doing anything.”

“Give me the phone,” Root demanded in a hushed voice. Gen ignored her.

“Cool,” said Gen into the phone. “We’ll be there.”

With that, she hung up, handing a dazed Root her phone back.

“What did you just do?” asked Root and decided she really did not like that particular grin on Gen’s face.

“We’re all going to the movies on Saturday night,” said Gen.

“All?” Root croaked and swallowed.

“Yep.” Gen smirked.

Root wasn’t sure she was even ready for a second date, let alone going on one with Gen at her side. This was a bad idea. A _very_ bad idea and Root had half a mind to call Angie back and cancel. But Gen looked so… thrilled by the idea. It was the most excited Root had seen her since they had been in Bishop and she found she couldn’t say no to that. She would just have to deal with it and hope Gen stayed on her best behaviour.

*

They invited Meg too. A strategic move on Gen’s part, Root thought, so that she wasn’t playing too much of the third wheel. Root didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by that and wasn’t surprised when Gen ensured her and Angie were sitting next to each other in the movie theatre with Gen and Meg on Angie’s other side.

Root shouldn’t have been surprised at the choice of movie. Some superhero thing that Gen was thrilled at. Root herself wasn’t too keen about it. Comic books really weren’t her thing and comic book movies even less so.

“You’re a physicist,” Root muttered in Angie’s ear about twenty minutes into the movie. “Don’t you find it a little hard to believe that a grown man can fly?”

“Well, that’s why he’s a superhero,” Angie murmured back. “They explain how later.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Root asked. Angie shrugged and went back to watching the movie. The large screen cast her face in an odd glow, giving her an almost otherworldly quality that Root found fascinating and far more interesting than some dumb alien that could fly.

After a few minutes, Angie smiled. “You’re supposed to be watching the movie,” she muttered.

“I am,” said Root and at Angie’s sidelong look, quickly turned her gaze back to the screen. Her smile was completely inappropriate for the current scene depicting a sombre funeral before the hero left home for good. With a swell of music, the scene cut to a bustling city, the hero now considerably older as he bumbled his way into a building and crashed into a pretty, professionally dressed woman.

“Let me guess,” said Root, turning to Angie with a lazy look of contempt, “the love interest?”

“Shh,” someone hissed behind them. Root glanced over her shoulder to find a balding man in a hoodie glaring at them.

“Well it’s not my fault this movie is predictably boring,” Root said, louder than her usual whisper. This time, Gen was the one to scold her into silence, leaning over Angie to scowl at her.

“Here,” said Angie, biting her lip as she tried not to laugh, “eat some popcorn.” She shoved the bag in Root’s hands and Root stared at it for a moment before shoving a few pieces into her mouth and chewing slowly. It was stiff and sugary and Root crunched down on each kernel loudly, competing with loud movie score blaring out of the speakers.

Unlike everyone else in the busy movie theatre, Angie seemed more amused than annoyed by Root’s obnoxious antics and by the time the movie was over – Root dosing her way through it once the popcorn was finished – she seemed in good spirits. Meg and Gen moved on ahead of them, talking excitedly about the movie. In the few short weeks they had been friends, Gen had managed to convert Meg into a comic book lover.

“So,” said Angie as they exited the movie theatre out into the cool, dark night. “Not a fan of superhero movies then?”

“Hm,” said Root. “Not really. But Gen liked it.” Which Root suspected was why Angie had picked that particular movie in the first place. She felt a swell of gratitude at that and couldn’t stop the grin from settling on her face.

“Ah, okay,” said Angie. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Next time?” said Root, eyebrow raised as they paused next to Angie’s car in the parking lot.

“Yeah,” said Angie. “I mean… if you want to that is. It’s totally okay if –”

Root stepped closer, cutting Angie off as she invaded her personal space.

“I’d like that,” said Root, biting her lip to hide her smile when Angie stared at her in surprise. It only grew as Root leaned in closer.

Kissing Angie was different from kissing anyone else. She was about the same height as Root, and even just kissing someone at the same eyelevel was new. Root could feel the softness of her lips, smell the scent of her perfume; something subtle and flowery. Root pulled away before she could really taste her and thought she might like to find out what it was like.

“But maybe just the two of us next time,” she said, glancing over Angie’s shoulder and spotting Gen and Meg giggling into each other’s shoulders and failing badly at trying to pretend they hadn’t just been watching.

“Okay,” said Angie, unable to keep the grin from her face. Root thought it made her look far younger than she actually was and she liked the way it brightened Angie’s face. It startled her, just how attracted to this woman she was. She found the smile on Angie’s face addictive and wanted to make sure it never left. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” said Root, grinning back. “I should get those two home, it’s getting late.”

Angie looked over her shoulder and even from the other side of the parking lot Root could hear Gen giggling. She made a show of rolling her eyes when Angie turned back to her and quickly said goodbye, feeling Angie’s eyes on her as she walked towards the car.

Both Meg and Gen did a poor job of pretending they hadn’t been watching every second, searching for every riveting detail, and they were unable to keep their giggles at bay as Root approached and unlocked the car.

Root got in behind the wheel. From here, she got a good view of Angie’s car and she watched as the headlights of the old, beaten up orange Honda came on and Angie pulled out of her spot.

As Angie drove away, Root wondered if this was what normal felt like. Giddy and scary and thrilling all at once. It was new and different and now that Root had a taste for it she found she wanted to try more.

“Well?” said Gen, getting into the front passenger seat and buckling her seatbelt. Behind her, Meg did the same.

Realising she was still staring after Angie, Root quickly turned her gaze onto Gen. She was practically thrumming with excitement in her seat. The grin was barely concealed on her face as she stared at Root expectantly.

“Well what?” said Root, keeping her tone carefully neutral. She struggled to keep the smirk from her face.

“You kissed her!” Gen exclaimed.

Root rolled her eyes but felt that same giddy rush from earlier just by thinking about it. “Hardly. It was just a peck.”

“Yeah right,” said Gen, who clearly had been watching very closely despite being at the other end of the parking lot. “Meg totally owes me five bucks.”

“You betted on whether or not we would kiss?” said Root incredulously, turning in her seat to glance at Meg in the back. Meg turned away sheepishly. Small under normal circumstances, she practically cowered underneath Root’s gaze. “Aren’t you both a little young to be gambling?”

Gen shrugged. “It’s not like we’re playing poker in the back of some dodgy bar.”

_No_ , Root thought, but she felt like she should be steering Gen away from bad habits all the same. Although she could think of a lot worse than gambling.

Root started the car, driving them away from the movie theatre and onto the main highway that would eventually lead them back to Bishop.

“So…” said Gen, “when are you seeing her again?”

Root let out a small smile. “Who says I am?”

Gen said nothing and when Root turned her head slightly to look at her she caught the flat look on her face. It made Root wonder if Gen wasn’t fishing for information, but rather just making Root confess what she already knew. It wouldn’t surprise Root in the slightest if Gen had managed to plant a bug on her somewhere and she made a mental note to check all her clothes, shoes and all, for any listening devices when they got home.

“Please,” said Gen condescendingly. “You are totally into her. Isn’t she, Meg?”

Meg leaned forward in between the seats. “You guys did look cute together.”

“See,” said Gen. “You _have_ to see her again. Remember our deal?”

“Asking her out for coffee was our deal,” said Root. Well… that had been the first step anyway. They both had agreed to attempt to make a “friend” and Root couldn’t deny Gen had held up her end of the deal.

Despite her reluctance, Gen had made a real friend in Meg and now the two of them were inseparable. School had become a lot more bearable for the both of them and now, instead of sitting in her room most days after school, alone and reading comic books or whatever else teenagers did when they locked themselves away, she had Meg to keep her company. Meg spent more evenings at their house than she did at her own.

But making a friend was completely different to whatever might be going on with her and Angie. Root liked her. She was fun and energetic. Young. And it was nice having someone look at her like they were interested in everything about her and keen to find out every last detail. With Shaw… it had never been like that. It had been hard and painful and rough and –

Nothing at all like how she felt around Angie.

With Shaw, every dark, little secret about her life was like an open computer file. Shaw had access to everything. She knew who Root was, who she had been and all that she had done. Angie knew none of that. With Angie she could be Sam again, young and still innocent, far removed from the monster she would become.

Maybe, with Angie, she could be the Sam Groves she was always meant to be before Hanna had been taken away from her and there was nothing holding Root back. Before everything and everyone became bad code.

“But,” said Root, dragging the word out after a few moments. When she chanced a quick glance at Gen she saw her features turn from forlorn to hopeful. “I guess going out for another coffee wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

Gen grinned at her with an exclaimed “Awesome!” bursting out of her mouth like it was the rush of water down a hill after a flood: quick and dangerous. The thought unsettled Root and she tried to ignore the feeling of cold dread that sat coiled in her chest.

She smiled through it and concentrated on the road ahead, letting Gen and Meg’s rapid play-by-play of the movie wash over her.

By the time they made it back to Bishop it was late. Root could feel tiredness bite at her eyes and she struggled to keep them open and alert. The other two had grown quiet about a quarter of an hour ago and Root suspected they too were close to sleep.

“You still owe me five bucks, by the way,” Gen said when Root parked them outside Meg’s small house. Root had seen it plenty of times recently but she still never got used to being back in the area.

“Tomorrow,” Meg promised, her cheeks going slightly pink. Root suspected she was hoping Gen would have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning and doubted Meg actually even had the five dollars to spare. She would have to gently tell Gen to let it go when she had the chance. When they were alone and in a way that Gen would understand. She was a smart kid though, and could probably work it out for herself. Living at the edge of the town of Bishop was like a curse and its name was poverty and all the unpleasantness that came with it.

Still, Meg was much like Sam had been, decades ago. Reluctant to let it get to her. Persevering. And she knew from experience that was much easier with a friend by your side.

Root waited, the engine idling, as Meg stepped up to her front porch. The light came on suddenly and there was movement within. In the glare, Meg stiffened. The front door barged open and there was an angry voice ordering her inside.

If the porch light hadn’t been on, Root would never have seen his face. Far older, heavy lines underneath his eyes and hair greying at the temples.

Cody Grayson.

He squinted at their car with his one good eye and from the way he swayed on the spot, Root thought he might be drunk.

“That’s Meg’s father?” said Root, staring back at him and wondering if he could see her. If he recognised her.

“I guess so.” Gen shrugged and shrunk back in her seat when Cody continued to glare at them. “I don’t think he’s very nice.”

“No,” Root agreed. He didn’t look it, at least. But the boy she remembered, latching onto Hanna almost as much as she had, hadn’t been anything like the man he had become.

_A kind soul_ , her mother used to say about him along with everyone else Bishop. Before Hanna, at least.

After Hanna’s disappearance, Cody Grayson had become the number one suspect and, despite the lack of evidence, despite Root knowing the truth, the town had condemned him.

Even now, she suspected, they gave him a wide berth and suspicious eyes. Who wouldn’t? He looked like an angry drunk and Root worried for Meg in that house. Alone and defenceless.

“You know him?” said Gen, frowning at her in the dark.

Root nodded absently. “I went to school with him.”

“Oh,” said Gen, sounding surprised. “I guess that happens a lot in small towns.”

“What does?” said Root, feeling slightly unnerved under the weight of Cody’s glare.

“Running into people you used to know.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Root agreed and knew then that she could hardly hide from it any longer.

Cody continued to glare at them until Root put the car into reverse, turning on the road. In the rear-view she watched him more than the road ahead, his glare hardening before he disappeared back into his house and out of sight.

 

_Manhattan, New York_

“Hello, Lionel.”

The detective jumped and the mug of coffee in his hand jumped with him. Murky brown liquid sloshed over the sides, covering his hand and the sleeve of his worn and faded suit. Under normal circumstances, Shaw would have smirked triumphantly upon sneaking up on and scaring the shit out of him. Today she didn’t have the energy to gloat.

The precinct was quiet given that it was the middle of the day and Sameen Shaw wondered if everyone had gone out to lunch, leaving Lionel to hold down the fort by himself. She felt her own stomach rumbling, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast that morning and her eyes wandered to the tray of doughnuts on the desk opposite Fusco’s.

“Can you not do that?” Fusco whined, dumping his now half empty mug on his desk and attempting to wipe up some of the spilled coffee from his suit with a napkin. Shaw thought it was probably a bit of a lost cause. Besides, the coffee stains would match the mustard stain on his tie that Shaw was sure had been there long before she had known him.

“I would have thought a seasoned detective like you would be alert at all times,” said Shaw. She took a seat at the empty desk opposite, propping her feet up. The smell of sugary icing and dough filled her nose and she felt her mouth water. Surely no one would notice if she took just _one_?

Fusco glowered. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check-in,” said Shaw. Unable to resist any longer, she leaned over and grabbed the last glazed doughnut out of the box. The sugary goodness filled her mouth and she struggled to contain a moan of pleasure.

“Checking in,” said Fusco sceptically. “Right. Does Glasses know you’re here?”

“Finch isn’t the boss of me,” Shaw muttered through a mouthful of food. She watched as Fusco tossed his soiled napkin into the trash and took a seat behind his desk.

“Did the Wonder Team break up?” said Fusco sarcastically. He took a sip of his coffee and pulled a disgusted face. “This stuff gets worse every week, I swear…”

“Stop stonewalling me, Lionel,” said Shaw. She swallowed down the last of her doughnut and gave Lionel a cold look.

He sighed, pushing his mug away. “What do you want me to say? The investigation’s still on-going.”

“That’s not good enough,” said Shaw.

“Yeah, well,” said Fusco, although he didn’t sound too happy about it either, “that’s bureaucracy for you. These things take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Shaw said and thought about Root and Gen stuck in Bishop, Texas with no contact to the outside world.

Shaw hadn’t called in a while. Not after the last phone call where Root had barely said two words to her. She wanted to though. She needed more than the Machine’s reassurance that they were okay. That the boredom and the isolation hadn’t gotten to them and eaten them whole.

She recalled Mary Woods and the small town hell she’d had to suffer while Samaritan was up and running and still a threat. Sometimes, on days dark and long with every sleaze in town coming to the bar for a drink, Shaw thought she would go mad from it. The Machine spitting out Root’s number had been a life saver.

Now, despite the much larger city, that boredom was still there. Shaw wondered if it was only a matter of time before the Machine spat out Root’s number again.

“Did something happen with Butternut and the kid?” Fusco asked and Shaw appreciated that he looked slightly worried, his hands gripping the chair’s armrests like he was ready to push himself up and run to the rescue.

“No,” Shaw admitted reluctantly. Nothing beyond her own paranoia.

“Well then,” said Fusco, relaxing a little. “You know they say patience is a virtue.”

Shaw rolled her eyes and licked her sticky fingers clean. She was still hungry but the thought of eating another doughnut turned her stomach.

“I can at least help,” said Shaw.

“Didn’t you try that already?” said Lionel. The look he shot her wasn’t quite as dark and disappointed – _angry_ – as the looks she had been getting from Reese and Finch. But she knew what he was referring to all the same. Her fuck up and the consequences that came of it. Zoe’s baby and Root and Gen on the run.

“Lionel,” Shaw warned and thought she would go crazy if she didn’t get to do something soon.

“Look,” he said, voice and gaze equally sympathetic. Shaw wanted to shoot it out of him and itched to reach for her gun. She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy, nor did she need it. “There isn’t anything you can do. I’ve got the FBI riding my ass as it is. If my Captain finds out –”

“Your Captain?” said Shaw distastefully. She didn’t care about that. Didn’t care that there were rules and procedures to follow. She wanted results _now._

“Yeah,” said Lionel, looking annoyed like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I got my career to think about too, you know.”

“Your career?” said Shaw and shook her head in disbelief that he was worrying about something so trivial. But then… she’d had a career once. One she was determined to succeed at. Be the best at. And she had been right on track, focused, until one patient and an anal, ass kissing chief resident got the better of her.

It didn’t matter anymore anyway. She should have figured killing people was easier – cleaner – than saving them.

Except… the last person she killed, Volkov’s little sheep, _that_ hadn’t exactly been clean.

Maybe Finch did have a point about killing not being the best answer.

“Yeah,” Lionel snapped and when Shaw looked at him, she could see the stress and tiredness in his eyes. “It’ll be my job on the line if the FBI thinks I screwed up. Not to mention…”

“What?” said Shaw, intrigued when Lionel turned away. A flush creeped up on his cheeks and she doubted it was from the heat. “Lionel?” Shaw said when he remained silent for a few moments.

He sighed, shuffling a few papers on his desk absently before looking at her again. “The lieutenant’s position has opened up. If I do well on this case… well, I might be in with a chance. It’s more work, but more money and well… I’d be out on the streets less and with Lee…”

He trailed off into silence, staring down at his desk.

“Right,” Shaw murmured absently. She hadn’t thought about how this case would affect Lionel in the long run, or anyone else who was working on it. But, back in Moscow, she hadn’t thought about the consequences of her actions there either. She hadn’t wanted to. She’d been too focused on her goal of taking out the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, narrow minded in her protectiveness.

Now she was doing it again. Because doing nothing, sitting around _waiting_ , wasn’t something Sameen Shaw had ever been good at. And right now, with Finch and everyone else tying her hands behind her back, no numbers to keep her occupied; that was exactly what she was doing.

Shaw climbed to her feet, suddenly wishing she had never bothered with eating that doughnut. It sat heavily in her stomach, churning along with her stomach acid.

“Just…” Shaw began and Lionel glanced up from the paperwork he was pretending to read. “Call me if you need help. With anything.”

Lionel nodded but Shaw knew she would never get that call. The smile he shot her was almost apologetic.

Shaw didn’t return it with one of her own.


	29. Part 3: Chapter 29

Texas A&M University was its own little island campus to the south of Corpus Christi. As she drove along Ocean Drive towards the campus, the bay on one side sparkling beneath the Texas sun, its water a smooth shade of blue as clear as crystal, Root started to have those doubts again.

She had met Angie for coffee a couple of times this past week. Always at the cafe in the bookstore where Angie worked and usually after her shift. Being surrounded by books gave them plenty to talk about and Root wasn’t surprised - aside from the comic books - that they had similar tastes.

Naturally, given that Angie worked there, they talked about work too. Root left out some of the shadier aspects of her computer skills and stuck with the cover the Machine had set her up with: working freelance for various companies.

"So you work from home?" Angie had asked and Root nodded as she sipped at her coffee.

"Wish I could. The PhD stuff," she quickly added with a shudder. "Like hell I would want some of these customers in my apartment." Which led into talking about some of the rudest and downright strangest customers Angie had ever had to deal with.

But it was her university work Root liked hear about the most. Although Root didn't understand the majority of it, she loved listening and watching Angie talk. She was so _animated_ about it. So alive. Much like Root, she thought, when she used to discuss the Machine or her work with Harold back in New York that she never got to finish.

There was an intensity in Angie’s eyes, passion and enthusiasm and when Angie asked her if she would like to see her lab someday, Root found herself saying yes.

“Did you find the building okay?” Angie was waiting for her on the front steps of the tall, grey Science and Engineering building. She hopped to her feet when Root approached, only a few minutes late, and grinned broadly.

“It wasn’t so bad,” said Root. “Y’all have maps everywhere so… What?” she added when Angie’s grin widened.

“Y’all?” Angie teased. “Nice to see the Texan side of you coming out.”

“Shut up,” Root muttered playfully. She couldn’t deny it had been easy to slip back into the south Texan drawl since coming back to Bishop. Now she barely even noticed she was doing it. “Besides,” she added. “I’ve been here before.”

“You went to college here?” Angie said in surprise.

“Not exactly,” said Root. Her grades had been good enough to get into any undergraduate degree she wanted. But even if they did have the money, Sam couldn’t leave Irene. There had been no question about it; Sam knew that early on. As long as Irene Groves was alive, there was no way in hell she was ever getting out of Bishop. That had been something Sam had confided to Hanna late one night and together they had conspired to run away from Bishop right after high school, go to college together at the other side of the country. They’d had grand plans and, for a little while, Sam had hope.

After Hanna disappeared that hope had disappeared and so did the last of Sam’s naivety and innocence.

Root had never had a proper college experience; no late night parties and a roommate she couldn’t stand. But, on her mother’s good days, she did manage to sneak into a few computer science classes and a few other courses that piqued her interest. During those lectures, with the best of Texan academia droning on and on, Root realised she could learn more and faster from books and the internet and decided she didn’t need college life after all. She wasn’t missing out on anything of importance, or so she liked to think.

“I came here on a school trip once,” she said, glancing out over the bay.

Senior year. Texas A&M had done their best to showcase the best the college had to offer. Root remembered the day being far too hot, longing to jump into the icy cool waters of the bay that seemed to be within sight no matter where you were on the island campus. They had been forced to sit through a routine from the basketball team’s cheerleading squad, the players standing against the far wall in their uniforms. But the Islanders, as the team was called, sucked so bad that even the jocks in Sam’s year were unimpressed.

It was the library that Sam had liked. She hadn’t stepped foot in Bishop’s in years. Not since Hanna. At six storeys high, the library housed more books than Sam’s eyes had ever seen and she longed to read every single last one of them.

Root doubted she even made it through a quarter of one floor, but the library card and fake student ID she forged for herself allowed her full access and she read everything she could in between taking care of Irene and hacking into every secure government database that she could. By the time Sam left high school she had already made plenty of contacts, was making a name for herself. She was well on her way to becoming Root in everything but the name she would take for herself once she finally left Bishop.

“Okay,” said Angie, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Be cryptic. You’re lucky I like mysterious women.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Root, tongue between her teeth as she followed Angie up the short flight of steps.

“Come on,” said Angie. Her hand was soft and warm in Root’s as she tugged her inside and along the maze of hallways and down several flights of stairs. Root tried to keep track of their route, but she doubted she would be able to find her way back out on her own.

They stopped in front of a door in a brightly lit grey corridor. The floor was the same shade as the school’s light blue team colours and on the walls billboards lined every spare inch. Root spotted advertisements for parties, people selling old textbooks, offering tutoring services and even looking for a roommate. All the things she had never gotten to experience herself.

“Here,” said Angie, letting go of Root’s hand to pull a key out of her pocket.

A plaque on the door listed four names. _A. Howser_ was second from the bottom. _This must be Angie,_ Root thought.

“Your last name is Howser?” said Root as Angie unlocked the door. “As in Doogie Howser?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Angie rolled her eyes. “Doogie had an MD not a PhD and I’ve heard all the jokes so don’t even start.”

Root held her hands up defensively despite the smirk playing at her lips. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Angie stared at her doubtfully and stepped aside to allow Root to go in first.

The lab was smaller than Root had been expecting. Along the far wall two desks sat with computers on them that Root thought, just by glancing at them, were probably several years out of date. In the middle of the room was a large lab bench filled with papers and equipment Root had never seen before and couldn’t even begin to comprehend what they might be for.

“So,” said Angie, biting her lip nervously. “This is my home away from home I guess.”

“It’s… nice,” said Root, glancing around for a second time.

“Nice?” said Angie with her eyebrow raised. “It’s a shithole. Half the equipment doesn’t work and most of the time in smells like dude in here. But I guess that’s a given when you share a lab with three other guys.”

Root looked around the empty lab. “Seems pretty quiet just now. And odour free.”

“That’s because the three Stooges are at Star Trek convention in Houston. Although,” she added, “if my supervisor asks, they’re at the dentist.”

“What,” said Root, “all three of them?”

Angie shrugged. “It’s their dumbass cover story, not mine.”

Root smiled. It was weird seeing Angie in this environment, surrounded by all this equipment rather than books. Here, she was in her element. In the bookstore the spark had always been missing from her eyes.

“So,” said Angie. “Wanna see some lasers?”

“I sure do,” said Root. It was why she had come all the way out here after all. Well… not the only reason. But it made a nice change from coffee and she liked seeing Angie like this. Practically thrumming with excitement. It was catching, but Root felt disappointment wash over her when Angie wheeled a trolley over to the centre of the room. “Is that it?”

The small rectangular grey box with a fibre optic cable attached at one end wasn’t what she had been expecting at all.

“I thought it would be bigger,” said Root, pouting down at the unimpressive box.

“Well they used to be,” said Angie. “This is pretty much the only decent tech we have in here.”

She grabbed a lab coat from a hook behind the door and pulled it on. _A. Howser_ was embroidered on the chest pocket.

“Ooh,” said Root. “I like the mad scientist look.”

Angie shot her a flat look, her cheeks turning pink as she went back over to the trolley. A laptop sat next to the laser and Angie switched it on, huffing loudly when it took forever to boot up.

“So what exactly is it that you do?” Root asked and not for the first time. Angie tended to babble when she was excited about something and the most Root had caught about her work had been the part about lasers and that it was a relatively new field in physics.

“Essentially,” said Angie, “it measures heavy metal particulates and other toxins in plants and other materials. But we’re trying to assess the viability of working with animal tissues.”

“Oh,” said Root. “That sounds…”

“Dull?” said Angie, grinning. “It can be when you have to analyse endless spectrographs at the end of each day. But my supervisor is top of her field and once I complete my work with L.I.P.S., I’m hoping she’ll take me on as her assistant.”

“L.I.P.S.?” said Root.

“Laser-induced plasma spectrometry,” said Angie, patting the laser proudly.

“So…” said Root and was pretty sure the brightness of the grin on her face was enough to power this whole lab for a month. “You work with lips?”

“No,” said Angie, scowling. “L.I.P.S.”

But Root ignored her explanation, the grin still on her face as she moved closer to Angie. “You wanna work on my lips?” she asked, raising her eyebrows seductively.

Angie shook her head, but Root caught the hint of a smile on Angie’s face right before she kissed her.

It was more heated than anything they had done so far. Nothing compared to the quick pecks on the cheek or brief press of lips together. Angie’s hands gripped Root’s waist and she could feel the pulse at Angie’s neck pounding beneath her fingertips as she pulled her closer. After a few moments, Angie pulled away slightly, breathing heavily and Root could feel it warm and light against her cheek.

“My supervisor could walk in at any moment,” Angie groaned.

“So?” said Root and leaned down to suck at Angie’s pulse point.

“So,” said Angie and Root could tell she was struggling to keep her voice under control. Root wondered what she would sound like completely undone. “Technically you aren’t even supposed to be in here.”

“Well,” said Root, pulling away with a smirk at Angie’s flushed cheeks. “I do love a rule breaker.”

“Do you wanna see this laser or not?”

“Yes,” said Root and tried to force herself to be serious for once.

“Okay, good,” said Angie and breathed a little lighter now that Root wasn’t all over her personal space. “But safety first,” she said, pulling a pair of tinted safety glasses from a box on the bench and handing them Root.

Root stared. The smile slipped from her face and she felt suddenly cold in the relatively warm lab. Words spoken from her own mouth long ago echoed in her ears and she could smell propane and burnt spaghetti as if it were in the very room with them now.

“Are you okay?” asked Angie and Root realised she was still holding the glasses out to her, concern flashing across her face.

Root nodded and took the glasses wordlessly, slipping them on.

Angie talked her through everything that she was doing and if she noticed Root’s lack of enthusiasm, her distance now that her head was miles away and several years ago, she never mentioned it.

 

_Central Park, New York._

_Well at least it’s stopped snowing_ , Shaw thought as she trudged along the cleared pathway. It was still fucking freezing and she shoved her hands into her pockets, cursing Daniel for making her meet him out here. She found him on a park bench overlooking the pond, hunched over against the cold and red faced. But he was much better than the last time she had seen him, still suffering the worst of alcohol withdrawals in the rehab facility upstate she had sent him to.

Perhaps it had given him a taste for the outdoors, being up there in the middle of the nowhere. Nothing but the trees and the birds and the other addicts to keep him company.

“We couldn’t have met somewhere with heating?” Shaw complained the moment she was within earshot.

Without looking at her, Daniel smiled. “A little fresh air never killed anyone.”

“It’s the middle of winter,” Shaw pointed out and hesitantly sat down on the bench next to him where he had already cleared some of the snow away.

“It’s March,” said Daniel. “Practically spring.”

“If there’s still snow on the ground,” said Shaw, “then it’s winter.”

She sat with her hands deep inside her coat pockets and stared out over the frozen pond. Even the ducks had more sense than them to be out here right now. The midday sun sparkled across the ice and Shaw couldn’t deny it had a mesmerising quality to it.

“I thought you were buying me lunch,” said Shaw after a few moments. It was the only reason she had agreed to leave the house and abandon her Netflix queue (although, _that_ she had decided not to mention to him).

“I am,” said Daniel. “There’s a hotdog vendor at the bottom of the path.”

Shaw scoffed. “Can’t be getting much business at this time of year.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Daniel, climbing to his feet. “You like onions, right?”

Shaw nodded and he disappeared towards the path, snow crunching beneath his feet.

 _Bear wouldn’t have minded the cold_ , Shaw thought. Chasing snowballs was one of his favourite games. She wondered if Finch had taken him out. She didn’t like to think about Bear being holed up in the library over the winter months. She would have taken him out herself, but Shaw hadn’t seen or spoken to Finch since the incident in the diner.

With no numbers to save and her help not required for the investigation into Volkov, Shaw spent most of her time these days in her apartment drinking beer and watching the Netflix account she had gotten for Gen last summer to keep her occupied.

A gust of wind blew across the park, icy and sharp and Shaw shivered inside her coat. The breath left her mouth in clouds and she watched each one, breathing slowly, until they disappeared.

It was probably warm in Texas. She would have to check the exact temperature once she got home, but she could easily picture Root sitting by a pool on some deckchair, sipping one of those disgustingly fruity cocktails as the sun danced across the sunglasses on her face.

She forced her brain to halt when it tried to picture what else Root might be wearing and focused on the icy pond instead. If she plunged into, it would certainly cool her thoughts. Engulfed in ice, frozen to her core; Shaw wondered what it would be like to feel like that again. To suffocate from it.

Now she was suffocating from a stifling heat, from thoughts she should not be having if she wanted to hold onto what little dignity and self-respect she had left.

“Shaw?”

It was Daniel. Somehow he had appeared on the bench beside her. She blinked, noticing the hotdog wrapped in tinfoil that he was holding out to her. She took it slowly, the warmth of it seeping into her bare skin.

How long had he been there without her realising? Too long. It had been a while since she had let her guard down so much.

Shaw peeled back the tinfoil and her nostrils filled with the scent of meat and fried onions. The mustard was tangy on her tongue when she bit into it. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes and in the middle of the park, with the cold deterring the most sensible of the population away and the trees masking the sounds of the city, it was easy to imagine they were in a different world all together.

“So,” said Daniel, once he had finished his lunch. He rolled his tinfoil up into a ball, rubbing it between his hands. “When are we getting new numbers?”

Shaw paused, the last of her hotdog halfway to her mouth and shrugged. “Ask Finch.”

“I meant relevant ones,” said Daniel. “I mean…” He paused and Shaw thought his ears might have turned slightly pink and not from the cold. “You do still want to work with me, right? We’re okay?”

Shaw resisted the urge to roll her eyes and shoved the last of her lunch into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a minute, long enough to make him squirm.

They hadn’t talked about what happened in Moscow. Not since their brief mention of it when she had broken up his fight with Jason’s brother in the middle of a street. There was nothing Shaw wanted to discuss anyway. It had been her screw up what had happened and after, not his. Even if he had been sober, on top form, she doubted he could have changed the outcome. She had been stubbornly determined, making her blind to anybody else’s logic.

“I wouldn’t be here if we weren’t,” Shaw said eventually.

“Oh?” said Daniel, clearly not believing her. He tossed his litter in the trash and stared back out over the pond. “Then why are you so…”

“What?” Shaw asked and wished she hadn’t. She knew exactly what she was like. Distant. Cold. Maybe feeling a little sorry for herself. She didn’t care enough to try and hide it anymore.

“I don’t know,” said Daniel. “Just… I don’t think your head is really here, is it?”

Shaw swallowed and she thought for a second that the hotdog was still lodged in her throat and she would start choking.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked. Her hand clenched into a fist around the tinfoil and it dug into her palm.

Daniel gave her a flat look, one that made her almost turn sheepishly away from him. They had been working together too long and too closely, been through too much shit together, that lying to each other and shielding the truth was no longer as easy as it once might have been.

“It’s wherever they are,” Daniel clarified. “Root and Gen.”

If she hadn’t already known it, admitted it to herself in the long, cold darkness of the night, lying awake and staring up at the ceiling, the truth of it might have hit Shaw like an avalanche.

Shaw bit the inside of her cheek and stared at the lone bird that had dared to land on the surface of the pond. It was warmer than it had been in the middle of winter, despite the fact that her ass was still frozen and she thought the icy surface of the water must be melting by now. But the bird – a robin she thought, but couldn’t tell from this distance – braved the risk of drowning, hopping along the flotsams of ice like the threat of an icy death was the furthest from its mind.

“What am I supposed to do, Daniel?” She found it easier to talk when she couldn’t hear the world. “I fucked everything up.”

“So did I,” said Daniel and smiled at her. Something boyish and cheeky. Something that sat on his face like it belonged there.

“Yeah, but…” said Shaw, kicking at the snow with her boot, “you don’t have Reese looking like he wants to shoot you every time he sees you.”

“No,” said Daniel and when Shaw thought she heard something like a laugh leaving his mouth she glanced up to glare at him.

“How is any of this funny?”

“Because you two are so goddamn alike you’re just too stubborn to see it,” said Daniel. “He’s angry, yeah, but that’s because anger is so easy to hold onto.”

“That’s –”

“You did,” Daniel continued before she could protest. “For far longer than he has. Moving on, forgiveness… love. They’re all so much harder.”

Shaw scoffed and glowered back at the pond. The bird was gone. Perhaps it had met its death in the icy depths after all. Or, more likely, it had flown off in search of food somewhere less hostile.

“Is that the kind of shit you learned up at the nomad rehab centre?” she said.

“That nomad rehab centre _you_ sent me to,” he pointed out. “Regardless of where I learned it, it’s true.”

“It’s bullshit,” said Shaw.

“Which part?” said Daniel. His grin was so annoying that Shaw wanted to wipe it from his face with her fist. “Because I don’t think you want to move on.”

“Daniel,” Shaw sighed. The grin had gone from his face, leaving it serious and sober. She couldn’t hide from that look or pretend they were just talking about something trivial. Something that didn’t matter.

The cold was seeping into her muscles, her bones. Her entire body would be aching from it before too long. She thought about that Texas sun again, high and hot and unrelenting. She had only been five when she last experienced it. Her father had been stationed at a military base just north of Dallas and all she could remember about the sparse lodgings they had been provided with was the stuffiness and the bad smells that always seemed to linger. No fresh air had ever gotten into that place and Sameen had hated it.

“What if she doesn’t want me anymore, Daniel?” Her voice was quiet, mingling with the cold. It was as still as death out here.

“Well you’re not going to find out sitting here with me, are you?” said Daniel.

 _No_ , Shaw thought determinedly and for the first time in months, Sameen Shaw felt like she had a purpose again.

 

_Corpus Christi, Texas_

Root couldn’t hear anything over the blaring music. It pounded out of the speakers so hard she thought they would burst. It was something with too much bass, too much electronics and Root found she didn’t care for it at all. She was tempted to switch her implant off, but the disorientation after so long with it on always made her sick. Besides, she was struggling to hear anything at all as it was.

Apparently this was the hippest club in Corpus Christi, but Root couldn’t see the appeal of it. Perhaps she was just getting old. She certainly _felt_ old, surrounded by Angie’s friends, all about a decade younger than her.

Root couldn’t hear much of what they were discussing and wondered how they could even carry a conversation in this place. So she sat next to Angie, smiling and nodding politely and resisting the urge to pull out her phone and check the time. When the opportunity arose, she slipped outside without anyone noticing.

It was just after eleven. The early spring air was cool and Root wanted to go home.

She wasn’t sure why she had agreed to this; why she thought coming here would be a good idea. She felt like an imposter surrounded by Angie’s friends, hearing them call her “Sam” and asking her about her job, her life. It was harder to lie to a group of people compared to just one. But lying was something Root was always good at and she did it with more ease than she was comfortable with.

The bouncer was giving her a hard look and she realised she had been lingering at the side door. He probably thought she was waiting to deal drugs or something and she made sure her gait was casual as she walked away towards the parking lot.

She hadn’t intended on being out so late. Yet here she was, stone cold sober and annoyed at herself for thinking this would be a good idea.

Not that it had been _her_ idea. Angie had only hinted at it, but it was Gen who had insisted; who, against Root’s better judgement, had arranged for old Mrs Erskine from across the street to babysit her for the night. Mrs Erskine was pushing eighty and Root wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Gen would stay on her best behaviour. But the Machine was watching, and Root had made Her promise to alert her if Gen tried to sneak out of the house or did something equally as stupid.

So far there had been nothing from the Machine, but Root didn’t feel anymore at ease.

The parking lot was lit by a flickering florescent light, scattering across the hoods of cars. Root made her way towards her own, shivering in the light breeze. She’d left her jacket inside the club but couldn’t face going back inside for it.

Footsteps behind her.

“Sam!”

Root stilled and waited for Angie to catch up with her.

Breathless, Angie grinned as she neared. It faltered as she looked at Root, cold and shivering and wanting to leave.

“Are you okay?”

Root nodded, staring at the goose bumps spreading across Angie’s bare skin. The white tank top she was wearing was fine inside the club, but not out here.

“I just…” Root began. She shivered again and Angie held out the leather jacket she had left behind. “Thanks,” she murmured and looked at Angie. She looked far colder than Root felt and she found herself swinging her jacket over Angie’s shoulders before she could think about it. She tugged it closed at the lapels and held on as Angie smiled at her shyly.

“You weren’t having any fun in there were you?” said Angie. Root would have expected her to be annoyed. Instead she just looked disappointed.

“No,” said Root.

“I’m sorry,” said Angie.

“It’s not your fault,” said Root. “I’m just… worried about Gen. I’ve never left her on her own like this before.”

“Oh,” said Angie and the disappointment faded. “Then you should go.”

“Angie…” said Root, but Angie was already shrugging the jacket from her shoulders. She wrapped it around Root’s in the same manoeuvre she had done mere moments ago.

“It’s okay,” said Angie and pressed her lips to Root’s before she could protest. “My friends can be a little…”

“Nosey?” Root suggested.

“I was going to say intense, but that can work too.”

Still, Root felt bad for leaving and her footsteps were heavy as she walked towards her car and got in behind the wheel. She sat there for a few moments, breathing heavily and wondering what the hell she was doing.

Things with Angie had been moving at a steady pace. A pace Root had been happy with. They were somewhere between seeing each other casually and dating seriously and Root preferred the uncertainty of not being able to put a label on what they were.

It made it seem less real.

Which wasn’t fair. Not to Angie and not to herself either.

This evening, meeting Angie’s friends… it was like they had jumped two steps ahead. Now Root was falling, drowning and she didn’t know where to go from here.

The passenger door opened and Angie got in, shutting the door like she had been invited all along.

“What are you doing?” said Root.

Angie shrugged and pulled her seatbelt on. “I can hang out with those idiots any day of the week. I’d rather spend my Friday night with you.”

“Angie…” said Root and couldn’t help the smile on her face. “It’s a forty minute drive to Bishop. It’s almost midnight…”

“So?” said Angie. The look she gave Root was determined and full of implications. _I want to go home with you._ Root swallowed and turned away. She knew what it meant, taking Angie home, and couldn’t be sure she was ready for it.

“How will you get home?” _Are you sure about this?_

Angie shrugged. “The bus can be pretty handy.” _Yes, I’m sure._

Angie might be, but Root wasn’t sure _she_ was. She hadn’t been with anyone for a long time. Not since Shaw. And look how spectacularly disastrous that turned out to be. But Angie wasn’t Shaw and Root wasn’t even sure she was the same person as she had been back then. This was brand new territory for everyone.

Weeks later, she would think back to this moment and realise it for the mistake it had been. She would wish she had stopped her hands from putting the key in the ignition and turning the engine on. But Angie was cute and sweet and kind and in that moment Root wanted to take her home.

They drove in silence back to Bishop. Angie flicked through the stations on the radio until she came across something light and melodious, so calming after the incessant thumping of the nightclub. The drive made Root tired but by the time she pulled into her driveway she felt wide awake.

The porch light came on automatically as they approached and Root could see light pooling out from behind the blinds in the living room. It flashed blue and then red. Probably the TV. Root unlocked the door and Angie followed her inside. Mrs Erskine was fast asleep on the couch, snoring louder than the infomercial blaring out from the TV. Drool dribbled down her chin and Root cringed as she leaned across her for the remote and shut off the TV.

Mrs Erskine let out a loud snort, almost like a raging bull, when Root shook her gently awake and in the shadows of the hallway, Root could hear Angie giggling in response. Blinking up at her in confusion, it took several moments for Root to urge Mrs Erskine off the couch and out the front door. But she was too busy yapping away. Root and Angie had to be the biggest audience she’d had in a while and it was all Root could do to nod her head in what she hoped was a less than encouraging manner.

“Thanks again, Mrs Erskine,” said Root and quickly shut the door in her face before she could start on another topic.

“Wow,” said Angie, coming up behind Root and laughing lightly. Her breath trailed across the back of Root’s neck and she struggled not to shiver. “I think that is the oldest person I have ever seen.”

“Yeah,” Root agreed, “I’m pretty sure she was that old when I was a kid.”

“You were a kid?” said Angie. She was grinning when Root turned to face her.

“Shut up,” said Root, kissing her briefly before pushing her away gently. “Go find us something to drink; I’m going to check on Gen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Angie, tossing Root a fake salute that made her want to roll her eyes.

Upstairs, the house was dark and still. Root was almost afraid to disturb it. The door to Gen’s room creaked and Root was careful to open it slowly to minimise the noise. The light from the hallway cast a shadow across Gen’s sleeping face. She looked peaceful, sprawled across her bed with her arm dangling off the side and her mouth hanging open as she snored lightly. Root smiled, watching for a few more moments before gently closing the door again.

Gen was fine. She always was. And Root had once again been worrying over nothing. They were safe here out in Bishop from everyone but themselves.

“I couldn’t find any booze,” said Angie when Root stepped into the kitchen. “Maybe Gen drank it all.”

“Funny,” said Root sarcastically and moved past Angie to open the freezer. It was full of frozen meals and a carton of ice cream Root was surprised was still intact. But when she lifted it to move it out of the way, it was lighter than she remembered. No doubt Gen had snuck past Mrs Erskine for a pre-bed snack. At the very back of the freezer, Root found what she was looking for. She pulled the bottle out by the neck and handed it to Angie.

Angie let out an appreciative whistle. “I like a girl who keeps her vodka in the freezer. And this is pretty decent stuff too.”

“Well I like a girl that knows her vodka,” said Root, smirking when Angie’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “Glasses are in the cupboard next to the cooker,” she added, hopping up onto the counter. She bit her lip as Angie stretched up to reach for the glasses and she caught a glimpse of that tattoo again. It was something almost tribal, but it was gone with a turn of Angie’s heel and all Root had left was her imagination, thoughts of what it would be like to run her tongue along its outline.

She found herself burning from the thought and was grateful for the coolness of the glass when Angie handed it to her. The vodka was strong, like syrup as it burned down her throat and she almost choked from it. She wasn’t even sure why she had bought it. She didn’t drink much. Alcohol almost never agreed with her and this stuff tasted just as disgusting as the first time she had tried it.

Age eleven and three quarters, Sam had sipped her first taste of alcohol and felt like she could do anything. Hanna had been there too, of course. The two of them lying under the stars in Hanna’s backyard once again, taking turns to sip at the bottle they had “borrowed” from Mr Frey’s stash. Their giggling became more and more uncontrollable with each sip and eventually they passed out across each other and awoke to a burning sun, their guts on fire and demanding to be emptied. Mrs Frey’s roses didn’t come into bloom that year. Too much water, Hanna had guessed, sharing conspiratory wink with Sam.

“Not many people drink vodka straight,” said Angie, sipping at her on glass.

Root raised an eyebrow. “Impressed?”

“Maybe,” said Angie, grinning as she stepped closer to Root, coming to a halt in-between her legs. Root’s breath caught in her throat. She could smell Angie’s perfume, the alcohol on her breath and she didn’t dare move.

“Sam,” Angie murmured, so soft that her name sounded like the air itself.

Root sat frozen, her drink abandoned on the counter next to her as she stared at Angie’s lips. After a moment, she groaned, leaning forward slightly to press their foreheads together.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she muttered. Angie’s free hand found her hip and Root was surprised when she didn’t flinch away, when the warmth that seeped into her body was comforting rather than stifling.

“Why?” Angie asked.

She thought about Jason, then, for the first time in a long time. Bishop and Hanna and her mother had occupied her thoughts since coming here and he was almost like a distant childhood memory now. She thought Angie might help in driving him away fully, although she knew he would never, truly, leave her.

But it was someone else that was haunting her now. And Root wasn’t sure Angie could even begin to compete.

“It’s just…” Root sighed. “Been a while.”

“That’s okay,” said Angie. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Root pulled away and didn’t like the sincerity in Angie’s eyes. Maybe she wasn’t looking for perfect, but why should either of them have to settle for anything less?

How did you measure perfectness anyway?

Root thought she could once. In a scowl and a roll of eyes, a glare of her very own.

But she’d lost that a long time ago and had no idea how to get it back or if she even could.

“Sam,” said Angie and it was almost like a promise. That it didn’t matter what happened afterwards. All that mattered was now.

Angie brought her lips towards Root’s. When they were only a hairsbreadth away, Root pulled back, lowering her gaze. She felt Angie sigh more than she heard it and when she dared to look up again she found Angie downing the last of her drink.

“I –”

Root’s phone rang, cutting into the stillness of the night. The loudness of it startled Root and Angie pulled out of her reach, disappearing into the living room before Root could stop her.

She should have known who it was, but the name on the caller ID still left her breathless. Why now? Shaw’s timing was just perfect and Root wondered if the Machine had a role to play in this.

Thumb hovering over the answer button, Root tried to think what could possibly be so important that Shaw would call at this time of night. Nothing to do with Volkov; the Machine would have told her already. So then what? Just checking in? The last time Shaw had done that, Root had barely said anything at all. There was nothing she could say that hadn’t already been said.

She was stuck in limbo, she realised. Her life was like her hovering thumb. Undecided. But she knew how it ended, had done for a long time. Now she had to decided how she wanted to get there.

Root blinked and when her eyes focused again, she found her thumb pressed tightly down on the end call button. The ringing ceased, leaving the kitchen far too quiet.

Root wanted noise. She wanted Angie and she left her cell phone on the counter as she went to find her.

The living room was completely dark. The street lights outside barely illuminated the gloom. Angie was almost swallowed by it and it took Root a moment to focus on her silhouette, hunched over on the couch.

“Who was it?” Angie asked when Root stepped in front of her.

“No one important.” Root took Angie by the hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Angie stared at her in the dark. But the little light that stole its way inside caught her eyes and they glistened at Root.

“Are you sure?” Angie asked and Root kissed her confidently in response before leading her upstairs.

Angie’s hand was clammy in hers, or perhaps it was her own. A shared nervousness that was uniquely theirs. Root let go and took her clothes off in the dark. It was easy to pretend her hands weren’t shaking and they only stilled when she gripped at Angie’s naked waist and pushed her gently onto the bed.

*

Root woke early to the sun was still struggling to rise in the sky. Angie lay fast asleep next to her, lying on her stomach with her face turned away. Root let her eyes trail lazily across her bare skin and pressed her lips to Angie’s shoulder. Her fingertips traced the outline of Angie’s tribal tattoo, stark black against her pale flesh. Her tongue hadn’t gotten to experience it last night. Afterwards, bodies covered in sweat, breathing heavily, Root had been too tired for another round. _Maybe next time,_ Root thought and propped herself up on one elbow.

There was something calming about watching another person sleep and Angie did it so gracefully. Her breathing was heavier but it didn’t quite reach the octave of Mrs Erskine’s rumbling snore. It was something, she thought, that she wouldn’t mind waking up to time and time again.

 _Time_. _What an odd concept_ , Root thought. Time flew by them all, like Forest Gump on his never ending run across America. It didn’t stop. It didn’t care and sooner or later they all ran out of it in the end.

Much like it would for Charlie in _Flowers for Algernon._ The book still lay on the nightstand, barely touched. Not normally a slow reader, Root was taking her time with this one. She sensed more than knew how it would end, how Charlie, so brilliant and wonderful would go back to being a shell. Something that was shaped like a human, but not one a person could relate to.

She felt sorry for him, she found, and despite barely being halfway through, she could understand why this had been Hanna’s favourite book. The hope, the rawness of it being taken away… it was all relatable.

It was all too real.

Angie stirred, a groan escaping her mouth and Root stilled the movements of her fingers.

“What time is it?” Angie asked.

“Just after six,” Root murmured against the skin on her shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t,” said Angie. She rolled over onto her back and stared up at Root with a lazy smile on her face. “I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Call in sick,” Root suggested.

“Tempting,” said Angie. She sat up, caught Root’s mouth in a brief kiss before getting out of bed. “But I need the money.”

“Hm,” Root said, unimpressed by that excuse, but enjoying the view all the same as Angie bent over to pick up her clothes from the floor. “Fine,” she said in a mock disappointed voice. “Don’t spend all day in bed with me having sex.”

Angie scoffed at that. “Like you could last all day.”

“I could,” said Root, frowning in outrage. “I’m not _that_ old.”

“Definitely not as old as Mrs Erskine, I’ll give you that,” said Angie.

“Shut up,” said Root, shaking her head in exasperation at the cheeky grin Angie shot her. Still half-naked, Angie yelped when Root grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her on top of her.

“Cradle snatcher,” Angie murmured against Root’s lips and kissed away her protests. She pulled away before Root could deepen the kiss and went back to pulling on her clothes. “Now are you gonna give me a ride to the bus station or not?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Fine,” said Root and clambered out of bed in search of her own clothes.

Both dressed and with their hands to themselves, they ventured out of Root’s bedroom. Almost at the exact same moment Gen stumbled out of the bathroom, rubbing at tired eyes. It was way too early for her to be up on a Saturday so of course she had chosen this morning over all mornings to need an early morning pee.

“Oh hey, Angie,” Gen mumbled, staring at them blearily. “You’re here early.”

“Um,” said Angie and glanced at Root over her shoulder with a panicked look in her eyes.

“ _Or,_ ” said Gen, looking marginally more awake now that she was staring at them suspiciously, “are you here late?”

The grin on her face was far too knowing and Root groaned at the way she cackled all the way back into her bedroom. She could still hear her giggling even with the door shut.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” said Root, tempted to bury her face in her hands and never look Gen in the eye again.

“Nope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to m_lamachine for doing my research and finding LIPS. The joke was too good to resist.


	30. Part 3: Chapter 30

There was no regularity to their encounters, but Angie ended up spending a few nights a week at Root’s place. Angie’s car was currently in the shop, so she would either get the bus back to Corpus Christi or Root would drive her herself. Which often left Angie running late anyway when their journey ended with a heated make-out session in the front of Root’s car.

“I have to go,” Angie murmured against Root’s mouth.

“Okay,” said Root breathlessly, but didn’t let go. In fact, she tightened her grip and kissed her again.

“Seriously,” said Angie, although she made no move to pull away. “I’m supposed to be presenting my findings to my supervisor in five minutes.”

“Five minutes, huh?” said Root. Her hand slid underneath Angie’s shirt, slowly moving upwards and unhooking her bra in one deft movement. “I can do a lot in five minutes.”

Angie groaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Fine.” Root sighed and let Angie extract herself. She reached behind to redo her bra, scowling at Root. But the arousal was still evident in her eyes and it was with an air of reluctance that she finally opened the passenger door and got out.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, poking her head back inside. “I took Saturday off.”

“Oh?” said Root with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

“None,” said Angie. “I just thought it would be nice to spend the day together and not have to rush off in the morning.”

“Are you suggesting we spend the weekend in bed?” said Root. “Because I would totally be down with that.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “You keep claiming you have all this stamina and I’ve yet to see any evidence of it.”

Root pouted at that. The constant jokes about her age were, quite frankly, getting a little old. But Angie kept hitting her with them, smirking every time Root reacted to it before kissing her glower away. The years still stretched between them though. Root could feel every single one of them like a gaping chasm. They were from two different worlds already despite the age difference.

None of it seemed to bother Angie, however, and she grinned as she slammed the door shut and blew a kiss through the window before disappearing inside the Science and Engineering building.

Perhaps that was the advantage of youth. Not enough time had passed to start worrying about this sort of thing.

For Root, it was always there in the back of her mind; during every word spoken between them and every kiss and caress, through every orgasm. It was so familiar to her that it was easy to ignore, to shut away along with the part of herself she didn’t dare let Angie see.

With Angie she was Sam again and being Sam was easy. Sam didn’t have all those years behind her, holding her down like gravity. Sam still had the raw innocence of youth and when she was with Angie, it was all too easy for Root to pretend that was who she was. That it didn’t matter what she had done in between leaving Bishop and coming back.

Root didn’t see Angie for the rest of the week; not until she appeared on her doorstep late Friday afternoon with her laptop under one arm and a grin on her face.

“You’re early,” said Root, tugging Angie inside.

“You sound disappointed,” said Angie, stealing a quick kiss before looking around the living room. “You hiding another woman in here?”

“Yeah,” said Root. “I’m beating them away with a stick.”

“You wish,” said Angie. She held her laptop out for Root to inspect. “It’s playing up again. Would you mind…”

Root raised an eyebrow. “And what would be in it for me?”

Angie smirked. “I’m sure I could think of something.”

Taking the laptop, Root smirked and set herself up at the kitchen table. There was nothing dramatically wrong with it other than needed a few standard updates and a better anti-viral software. Root installed one she had designed herself, getting rid of the hidden malware that was making the system run slow.

“So…” said Angie, coming up behind Root’s chair and embracing her from behind. “What’s the verdict?”

“Next time, when your computer prompts you for updates,” said Root, reaching up to hold onto Angie’s wrist with her left hand while she continued to work on the laptop with the other, “let them run.”

“What’s that?” Angie asked. Root finished installing the software and pulled her flash drive out.

“Anti-viral software,” Root explained. “It’ll run background checks automatically so don’t turn it off.”

“You know,” Angie muttered against her ear, making Root shiver, “you’re kind of hot when you go all computer nerd.”

“Oh yeah?” said Root, unable to hide the grin when Angie kissed her neck.

“Yeah,” said Angie, sliding her hand down Root’s front. Root shivered, closing her eyes and focusing on the feel of Angie’s fingers on her collar bone, her breast and finally at the waistband of her pants. “Do you want your payment now?”

“Okay,” Root breathed out. Her skin burned hot from the touch, breathing becoming shallow. Angie sucked at the pulse point on her neck and Root was sure it was hard enough to leave a mark. It had been a while since she’d had a hickey or left one herself and the thought of Angie leaving something behind of their encounter, something that any one of the nosey residents of Bishop could see, made her more aroused than the path of Angie’s hand.

Nimble fingers undid the button of her pants, slipping beneath her panties. Root let out a groan and wanted to pull Angie down on top of her. Angie held her still and when her fingers found Root warm and wet, Root doubted she would ever be able to move again. She did have one fleeting thought before the sensation Angie was inducing took over everything; that the angle couldn’t have been comfortable for Angie’s back and neck.

Angie’s fingers were agonisingly slow, but they sped their pace in response to Root’s encouraging moans.

“Shit,” Angie muttered. She pulled away abruptly, allowing the cool breeze from the open kitchen window to dance across Root’s flushed skin.

Dazed and body still thrumming, it took Root a moment to realise why she had moved away so suddenly. Then she heard the sound of the front door slamming shut, Gen calling out to see if anyone was home.

“Fuck,” Root hissed. She jumped to her feet, straightening her clothes and buttoning her pants back up, glaring when Angie giggled at her flustered state.

“Oh, there you are,” said Gen, coming into the kitchen with Meg trailing along behind her. She headed straight for the fridge and pulled out two cans of soda. “Hey, Angie.”

“Hey,” Angie replied and Root was smug to discover her voice an octave higher than usual.

“You’re home early,” said Root. She tried to maintain an air of casualness and thought she might be failing spectacularly.

“No I’m not,” said Gen, frowning now as she slammed the refrigerator door shut.

“Oh,” said Root. She had been too… distracted to bother noticing the time. So, apparently, had been Angie going by the blush blooming across her cheeks.

Gen stared between them both, eyes like slits with suspicion. “Ew, gross,” she said eventually, rolling her eyes as she backed out of the kitchen. “Get a room next time.”

Root wasn’t sure it was possible, but Angie’s face flushed a deeper shade of red. She sunk into one of the kitchen chairs, burying her face behind her hands and groaned.

“Well that was embarrassing,” said Angie once Gen and Meg were out of earshot. “I’m never coming over again.”

“Relax,” said Root, sitting back down to turn off Angie’s laptop. “She’ll have forgotten all about it by dinner time.”

Angie shot her a doubtful look and she spent the rest of the afternoon at a safe distance in case Gen or Meg were to walk in on them again.

Dinner was beef enchiladas, Angie style, and Root felt her mouth watering from the smell of frying meat. Watching Angie cook was an experience in itself. She never bothered with measuring things out, just tossed a handful of this or that into the pot.

“Cooking a little dangerously, aren’t you?” Root asked, coming up behind and wrapping her arms around Angie’s waist.

“That’s how my grandmother taught me,” Angie explained, leaning back into Root. “She never followed a recipe in her life.”

“Hm,” said Root and buried her face into the crook of Angie’s neck. She could smell the shampoo in her hair; sweet like coconut. “Don’t think this is payment for the laptop,” she said coyly. “I’m still –”

“Don’t,” said Angie, her body freezing. She glanced over her shoulder to the open doorway.

“Relax,” said Root. “They’re watching TV.”

Still, she let go of Angie and stepped back into that respectable three feet of distance Angie had been aiming for all afternoon.

“Here,” said Angie, “make yourself useful.”

She tossed Root an onion, which she deftly caught with both hands. “You sure you trust me with that?”

“Just don’t chop your fingers off,” said Angie. “I’m not so good with blood.”

“This isn’t my first foray with a knife, you know,” said Root, waving the sharp implement about to prove her point. When Angie raised an eyebrow at her, Root decided it was probably best not to elaborate.

Eyes stinging, she chopped the onion up to Angie’s satisfaction and poured it into the pot. Small cubes of onion scattered across the cooker and onto the floor and Root had to get down on her hands and knees to find them all and toss them in the trash.

Angie snorted. “How could someone as old as you be so bad at this?”

Root scowled. “I’m not that old. And your pot’s too small,” she muttered darkly, glaring at the steam curling its way up towards the ceiling.

“Hey, don’t blame the equipment,” said Angie and Root was only appeased when Angie pressed her lips against hers. She tried to deepen it but Angie pulled away, grinning with her tongue between her teeth.

“We should have bought wine,” Angie said, turning back to the stove and giving the contents in the pot a stir.

Root propped herself against the counter, arms folded and watched Angie with sharp eyes. “You hate wine.”

“I meant for the sauce,” said Angie. “Here, taste it.”

Root pulled a face, but moved towards the wooden spoon Angie held out. “Why do I have to be the guinea pig?”

“Just taste it.”

Root licked up some of the sauce and burned her tongue. She pulled back with a yelp, glaring at the offending spoon.

“Blow on it,” said Angie, shaking her head when Root complained.

Root shot her a scathing look and Angie grinned at her own innuendo. “You blow on it.”

Angie did, sticking her tongue out to lick at the rest of the sauce.

“Needs more salt,” she said and turned back to the stove to add a pinch more.

Root was ordered to the other side of the kitchen while Angie poured the beef and sauce mixture into tortillas. She wasn’t even allowed to grate the cheese.

“You know you can buy this already grated, right?” said Root, handing Angie a block of cheese.

Angie rolled her eyes. “Do you always look for a short cut in everything?”

“With cooking?” said Root. “Yes. With _other_ things…” She placed her hands on Angie’s hips and ducked her head. Her breath tickled across Angie’s skin as Root muttered in her ear. “I like to take my time.”

“Sam,” Angie warned, and elbowed Root out of the way. Root stepped back with a huff and let Angie finish preparing the meal.

But perhaps her prudishness was well founded. Meg crept into the room as silent as a mouse, turning as red as her shining hair when she saw them standing so close together.

“Gen wanted me to get more soda,” she mumbled, head downcast. Thick locks of red hair covered her face, but not enough to mask the dark bruise beneath her right eye. Root wasn’t sure if she was deliberately trying to hide it. Not until she stepped cautiously forward, abandoning Angie at the stove.

“Hey,” said Root, lifting Meg’s head up by the chin to get a better look. Meg flinched and Root knew then that she was trying to hide it from them. Shame was written all over her face as stark as the ugly bruise marring her eye. Root felt anger burn within her and it took all she had not to let it show. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Meg said quickly. “An accident. It was my own stupid fault.”

“Right,” said Root, not buying it for one second. She glanced behind her and Angie shot her a questioning look. “Walked into a door, huh?”

Meg shrugged. Root was never going to get an answer out of her. Her mouth was locked up tighter than the most advanced encrypted computer. Perhaps Gen knew what had happened and Root made a mental note to ask her later. Long after Meg was gone. But even then, the look on Meg’s face was going to stay with Root. That sadness and shame. It was like looking into a mirror that could see through time. Until that day Sam had decided _no more_ and Root was born. All that shame and sadness and self-hate fell away, Root stomping on it, crushing it beneath her foot until she was sure she would never feel that way again; refusing to ever be _helpless_ again.

And she hadn’t. Not until that day she had thought she had found the Machine only to discover she had moved Herself and slipped between Root’s fingers.

Meg retrieved two cans of soda from the fridge with hands trembling like those of an alcoholic too long away from their favourite bottle. Root felt that anger again, potent and overwhelming.

"Hey," said Root, stopping Meg before she could disappear back into the living room. "How about you stay over tonight?"

"My dad wouldn't like it," Meg mumbled to her feet.

Root lifted her chin up gently again, caught bright blue eyes with her own before they darted away. She knew then, that it was him. The bruise on Meg's face was Cody Grayson's work.

She had no experience of the man he had become. Root knew only the boy. A loner, much like Sam had been. But Sam had never liked him. There was something off about the way he followed Hanna around everywhere. The way he looked at her. No wonder the town had thought he had something to do with Hanna's disappearance. Everyone saw it. How obsessed he was with her.

Root wondered back then, and even now too, if he had seen something that night. Had he seen Trent Russell's car? Like her, had he said something only to be ignored by the adults too engrossed in their own shitty lives to care?

But she had seen. She had been in Bishop when Brian Frey and his friends went after Cody one night and beat him so bad he lost sight in one eye. She hadn't cared. As far as she had been concerned, Cody deserved it. They all deserved it.

Now... she would take Cody's other eye herself if he dared to lay another hand on Meg or anyone else.

"I'll worry about your dad, okay?" said Root softly. Meg looked at her sharply and the fear was bright and clear in her eyes.

"But I don't... I don't have my things," Meg protested.

"It's okay." Root smiled. "You can borrow some of Gen's things. She won't mind."

Meg bit her lip and, after a few moments, she nodded slightly before stepping past Root and back into the living room.

"What was that about?" Angie asked.

"I'm not sure," said Root, staring after the girl and worrying at the inside of her cheek with her teeth. She shook her head, smiling until it no longer felt forced and kissed the frown from Angie's face.

*

Root woke early, despite not sleeping very well at all. She never did when Angie stayed over. It was hard getting used to a warm body beside her again and even harder getting used to someone who snuggled up so close. She didn't think she would ever get used to the feel of Angie's body pressed up tight against hers. And in the heat of Texas spring, it was almost unbearable. Sweat covering their skin in the dark, breathing heavily and moving against each other, their bodies would stick together unpleasantly afterwards.

It was barely light out and Root was starting to wonder if seeing the crack of dawn was going to be a regular occurrence. She liked this time of day though. Just her and the birds awake and everything else still dead to the world. She felt alone, despite Angie lying asleep next to her. There was something almost peaceful about it and, for a little while, she could allow herself to forget all that had happened, all she had done and why she was here.

But it didn't take long for her thoughts to turn, for her brain to wake up fully and remind her of everything. It would all come back in a rush, replaying in her head as she lay silently in the darkened room, listening to the sound of Angie breathing. She thought about the library - both of them, mingled together as one. She thought about Hanna disappearing and Root, years later, making Trent Russell pay. She thought about Jason and the sound of the gun going off in his hand, the bullet rushing towards her and Diazo jumping in the way. She felt him die in her arms, body going cold and stiff. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision until she couldn't see his face. Couldn't tell if it was Diazo or Hanna or even Irene.

Sometimes it was even Shaw or Gen, their faces becoming one. She saw Harold there too and Daniel and everyone else she had ever cared about. So few and even fewer now. She was like a disease, infecting them until they all went away in the end.

Beside her, Angie stirred in her sleep. Root shifted onto her side and stared at Angie's pale and naked back. The earthly light of the rising sun gave her skin an almost transparent quality, so thin that the bones of her spine looked sharp and ready to tear their way out of her flesh. Root trailed her finger down the ridges of her spine, feeling only warmth. Angie didn't stir again and Root couldn't tell if she was asleep or awake.

Even in the dim light the tattoo on Angie's lower back was bold against her skin. Root traced it with the tip of her finger, wondering if it had hurt when the needle pierced Angie's flesh and if she had enjoyed it.

Angie shivered, a moan escaping her mouth and Root stilled her movements, pressing her lips against Angie's bare shoulder.

"Sorry," Root murmured against her skin. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for tattoo's," Angie muttered. She reached for Root's hand and pulled her arm around her waist, tugging her close.

"What does it mean?" Root asked.

Angie shrugged. "It doesn't mean anything. I just thought it was cool."

"Oh," said Root, kissing Angie's shoulder again and thinking about other tattoo's on olive toned skin. They had held meaning, Root was sure. She had never had to ask. Besides, she knew Shaw would never have said anyway. But Root didn't need her to. She never needed to know everything.

"Although not as cool as all those scars," Angie said through a yawn. "One day you're gonna have to tell me how you got those."

Root said nothing. She didn't know what to say. How could she explain to Angie the bullet wound on her shoulder left by an ex-lover or the scar on her thigh from the bullet that had almost killed her? There were so many others too. Far too many for Root to ever explain.

She had left her fair share of scars too, over the years. More than she could remember or count and Angie knew nothing of it. Root didn’t believe for a second that she was naïve enough not to realise what they were, what had caused them. But she was discrete, patient enough not to push.

“One day,” Root muttered and knew that day would never come. She wouldn’t allow it.

Silence devoured the room once again and it wasn’t until Angie spoke again that Root realised she hadn’t fallen back asleep.

“How long do you think we have before they wake up?” she asked. Root could hear the suggestion in her voice and smiled.

“Well,” said Root, moving her head slightly so she could kiss Angie’s neck. She moved up, her mouth hot against Angie’s ear. “If Meg is anything like Gen, then they won’t be up until at least midday.”

“Mmm,” said Angie, “that’s hours.”

“Yup,” Root agreed.

Angie shifted until she was facing Root, a smile on her face that Root could only describe as goofy.

“What?” said Root, unable to keep a smile off her own face.

“You don’t see it, do you?” said Angie, tracing the curve of Root’s mouth with her finger. Something about the seriousness of Angie’s tone caused Root’s heart to quicken.

“See what?”

“How good you are,” said Angie. She reached for Root’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“I’m really not,” said Root, staring down at their hands.

“Yes, you are,” Angie insisted. “What you did for Meg, what you’re doing for Gen…”

_What she was doing for Gen._ Root wasn’t sure what that was. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice anyway. It was this or be found by the Bratva. Stay in New York and always be looking over their shoulders. But Angie knew none of that. Just their cover story of Root being Gen’s guardian. She had been sketchy on the details and Angie never pushed for more.

“That’s just…” Root began, but Angie silenced her with a brief kiss.

“Growing up in foster care sucks,” Angie said after a moment. “Gen’s way better off here, no matter what you think.”

Root frowned at that. “You grew up in foster care?”

Angie nodded. “My parents died when I was nine.”

“I’m sorry.”

Angie shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

“What happened?” Root asked.

“It was my ninth birthday,” said Angie. She looked at their hands, thumb gently stroking back and forth across Root’s skin in a peaceful rhythm. “I was at school and they had gone up to Corpus Christi. To get my present or birthday cake or something. I can’t remember why. They were just… minding their own business, doing their thing. They came out of the store and –”

She exhaled heavily, blinking rapidly before closing her eyes and all Root could do was watch.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” Root began.

“They got caught in the crossfire of some drug deal gone bad. Mom took a bullet to the head; died instantly. Dad was hit in the chest. He survived the trip to the ER but they couldn’t save him.”

She wasn’t crying, not yet. Root could see the tears in her eyes, the way her jaw was clenched so tight the muscles twitched and wished she had never asked. She would have still been in Bishop when Angie was nine and the story sounded vaguely familiar. Back then, a young couple from Robstown getting gunned down and killed would have been big news. She must have heard it on the radio or seen it in the paper. It was strange to think about Angie, so young and so close to Root all those years ago.

“Angie…”

“My grandma took care of me for a while,” Angie ploughed on. Now that she had started, she couldn’t seem stop and Root could only listen and let her go on. “But she was already pushing eighty and she got pretty sick. Chest infections every month and other stuff. They ended up putting her in a home and I got put into foster care. I never saw her again.”

“What was it like?” Root asked. “Being in foster care.”

“Sometimes it was okay,” said Angie. “Most of the time it wasn’t.”

Root lifted their hands up and kissed the tips of Angie’s fingers. There was more to that than what Angie was saying and she could imagine the worst. She wondered if Meg’s black eye had hit a familiar note with Angie, had stung with the echo of fists from the past.

She felt that anger again. This time it wasn’t just for Meg.

“But it was a long time ago,” Angie said. She smiled at Root, something small and sad, but full of hope as well. “I try not to think about the past too much.”

“I can’t stop,” said Root. “Thinking about the past,” she clarified at Angie’s questioning look. Bishop had done that to her. Made her think about everything. Even the things she had thought she had forgotten.

“Try,” said Angie and moved to straddle Root’s waist. She leaned down, bringing their faces close. Root gripped her hips. The sun cast orange waves across the sky outside and if Root could tear her eyes away from Angie she would marvel at the beauty of it. “Stop thinking.”

“I wish I could,” Root murmured and closed her eyes. She saw Shaw, hovering over her with intense eyes and ordering her to stop thinking about dreams she couldn’t control, about the past she couldn’t change.

Her eyes snapped open and she found Angie staring at her with a look on her face that Root had never seen before.

“What?” Root asked.

“I think I might be falling in love with you,” said Angie and Root’s entire body turned cold. Buzzing filled her ears and her hands went slack at Angie’s hips. She couldn’t process the words. She didn’t feel worthy of them.

_Love_.

Sometimes Root wasn’t even sure she knew what it meant. She had loved so few people in her life and when she did, it always ended badly. Hanna disappeared, her mother could only hate her in the end and Shaw…

Shaw could never love her back.

“Say something,” said Angie and Root realised several minutes had passed without her saying a word. But she didn’t know what to say, even if she could speak. She didn’t trust her own voice.

Root tightened her hold on Angie’s waist and flipped them over, pressing her body down against Angie’s and kissing her slowly.

“I think we’ve both talked enough,” she said and kissed Angie harder.

*

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

Things had changed.

It was subtle but Root could feel it and she was sure Angie could too. It used to be so easy between them; when Root could pretend she was just Sam and that it didn’t matter. That it was just a bit of meaningless fun.

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

Now it was real. Too real and Root didn’t know how she was supposed to act or feel or even what she was supposed to say.

Angie spent that Saturday with them and for once Root was grateful for the rain that forced Gen and Meg to stay indoors underfoot so she didn’t have to be alone with Angie any longer than necessary.

She was sure the kids hadn’t noticed, but she caught the look on Angie’s face; a brief flash of hurt and confusion before she turned her gaze away and forced a smile on her face.

That Sunday morning she woke up before Root, leaving a message scrawled in hasty handwriting that said she had an emergency at work and had to go into the lab. Root appreciated the lie even if she could see right through the weak attempt.

Even with Angie gone she couldn’t get the words out of her head.

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

They consumed her whole until it was all she could think about. Until she was cursing herself and her lack of a real response. Fucking Angie hard until the words had stopped ringing in her ears had only worked for so long and now she didn’t think they would ever leave her.

And, like the emotionally stunted person that she was, Root avoided her for the next few days. Pretending to miss her calls and cancelling plans they had made weeks ago by claiming she was busy.

She spent her days trying not to think about Angie until she realised that was impossible. She couldn’t stop.

Her curiosity got the better of her too. She didn’t think she would find very much about Angie’s parents. The digital age had only just begun to boom and Root had to search through several old online newspaper archives before she found the story she was looking for.

 

_ROBSTOWN COUPLE GUNNED DOWN_

  _A couple from Robstown, TX. were killed in a shootout in downtown Corpus Christi last Thursday afternoon._

_The shooting began as the couple were leaving Kleberg Bank on Holly Road. The husband, Marcus Howser, was rushed to Corpus Christi Memorial but did not survive the injuries._

_An inside source claims another man killed at the scene, who has yet to be identified, was the intended target of the possible drug related shooting._

_Police are urging witnesses to come forward with any information that might help to identify the shooter._

 

The information was nothing Angie hadn’t already told Root. Yet there was something oddly familiar about it that Root couldn’t put her finger on. She searched through a few more articles, finding much of the same thing from several other newspapers. It was until she hit on one, written a couple of weeks later, that finally identified the other man who had been killed, the supposed drug dealer.

He was a drug dealer alright, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. He’d had his hands in human trafficking, gun smuggling and a number of other activities involving organised crime.

The newspapers never used the word “gang”. Perhaps they were kindly asked not to in an attempt to avoid a public outcry. Or, more likely, the reporter had been paid off by one of many involved parties.

It didn’t matter. The more Root read, the sicker she felt. Her hands were clammy and her vision blurred as she stared at the screen.

“Root?”

She jumped. Quickly closing the window, Root turned to find Gen hovering behind her with a frown on her face. She dumped her backpack on the floor and continued to stare at Root as if she had grown a third eye. Root hadn’t realised how late it was, her research sucking the day away.

“Are you gonna get that?” said Gen.

“What?”

“Your phone,” said Gen, gesturing to the cell phone on the table beside Root’s laptop. It was ringing and Root hadn’t even noticed it vibrating on the spot.

“Oh,” said Root and glanced at the caller ID. It was Angie.

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

Root stared at it, listening to the ringing and the vibrating buzz until Angie eventually gave up and the screen went blank.

“Was it Shaw again?” Gen asked.

Root stiffened. She didn’t think Gen knew about that. Shaw had been calling almost every day for the past couple of weeks and Root had ignored every single one of them.

Rather than answering, Root said, “What do you want for dinner?”

Gen shrugged, picking her backpack up and disappearing upstairs to do her homework.

When she was sure Gen was far out of earshot, Root spoke into the empty room.

“Did you know?”

She didn’t receive an answer and she thought that was more telling than anything the Machine could have said.

*

The next morning, Root got up around the same time as Gen. She hadn’t slept much; waking up regularly from the same dream playing over and over again in her mind. She swirled around the stale cereal in her bowl, watching the milk turn brown from the chocolate flavouring; but, in the end, all she could see was a street in Corpus Christi and a happily married couple sprayed with a rain of bullets.

She didn’t even know what they looked like. None of the articles had a photograph. Without any visual evidence it was hard to believe they were even real. But they had made Angie and all Root could do was picture a man with Angie’s long nose and brown eyes, a woman with her full lips and curly brown hair, gold specks shining under the Texas sun.

“ _Root_?”

Root stiffened and looked up. Gen was glaring at her with impatient eyes. How long had she been trying to get her attention?

“The door?” said Gen sourly. The bell was ringing, again and again and Root suspected it had been for some time.

Root stared at her and Gen rolled her eyes. Dumping her spoon into the bowl, Gen pushed herself out of her seat, the chair scraping loudly across the tiled floor.

“Turn your implant on, for god sake,” she muttered as she disappeared to go answer the door.

Giving up on eating, Root dumped the remainder of her food in the trash and left her bowl in the sink. It was Gen’s turn to do the dishes and she stomped back into the kitchen a few moments later with a glower on her face.

“It’s Angie,” she said, taking her empty bowl from the table and moving towards the sink.

“W-what?” said Root. “You let her in?”

“Yeah,” said Gen haughtily and as if Root were stupid. “Are you guys fighting or something?”

“No,” said Root. “We’re just… just wash the dishes, okay?”

“Fine,” Gen muttered, scowling as she turned on the faucet.

Root made sure she was fully occupied before heading into the living room. She had to take a deep, shaky breath before she entered.

The sight of Angie in the middle of her living room, biting her lip with her hands shoved into her pockets and a grey hoodie swallowing her whole made Root’s heart lodge in her throat.

“What are you doing here?” Root said.

Angie sighed. “So you have been avoiding me.”

“No,” said Root, shaking her head. “That’s not… Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“My shift doesn’t start until later,” said Angie, a hardness to her voice. “But you have been avoiding me. What else would you call ignoring my calls?”

“I’ve been busy,” said Root.

“Bullshit,” said Angie. Her face softened as she stepped closer to Root. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” said Root, her face creasing into a frown. “Of course not.”

“This is about what I said, isn’t it?”

“Angie…”

“Look,” Angie said quickly, looking everywhere but at Root. “Just forget I said it.”

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

“And how am I supposed to do that?” said Root. She didn’t think she would ever forget those words.

“Sam,” said Angie and she had that determined look on her face again; the clenched jaw and hard, watery eyes. “I–”

“Don’t,” Root snapped, louder than she meant to. Angie flinched and took a step back, looking like she had just been slapped. “I’m sorry.” Root shook her head and closed her eyes. Couldn’t stop the images and thoughts flooding her mind.

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

Bullets piecing flesh and blood spraying everywhere. Two innocent people shot to death.

Angie kissing her, touching her. Making her body light up like it was on fire.

_I think I might be falling in love with you._

“I just…” Root began, but she didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t know how to explain herself and the longer she remained silent, the worse the look on Angie’s face got. Pained. Heartbroken. Root couldn’t bear to look at it, but found she couldn’t look away either. She was standing in the middle of road, with a lorry coming straight for her and Root couldn’t even move out of the way.

She still didn’t, even as Gen appeared in the doorway.

“What is with you today?” she asked, staring between them both.

Root didn’t say anything, her eyes still on Angie, wishing that she would look her. Wishing that she could take those few steps closer and pull her into her arms and kiss the look off her face; make her laugh and smile again like she was supposed to.

“The door?” said Gen. “Someone’s been knocking on it for like five minutes.”

Root hadn’t even noticed. She couldn’t find the energy to care about anything beyond this very room.

“Well I’ll just get it then,” said Gen snootily, stomping off in the direction of the front door.

"So that's it?" said Angie.

"Is what it?"

Angie pursed her lips together tightly like she had just eaten something sour. "I tell you I'm falling in love with you and you don't talk to me for a week. What the hell am I supposed to take from that?"

"Angie that's not-"

But she couldn’t explain. She didn't know _how_. Every word that left her mouth was only going to destroy whatever there was between them. And she didn't want that. She liked the easy way she could act around Angie. Before Angie had opened her mouth and said too much.

But the easiness was built on a lie. It wasn't _real_ and the shine in Angie's eyes was telling Root that she was starting to realise it too.

It wasn’t until then, with the glow of the morning sun breaking through the windows and Molly Dunbar from next door yelling at her husband that he'd forgotten to take out the trash again that Root decided she couldn’t do it anymore. She was tired of living her life shrouded in lies. That was her life before Bishop. Lying about just how ill her mother was in case they tried to take her away. Protecting the truth about what had really happened to Hanna because no one would believe her. Hiding who she really was…

She wasn't Sam Groves. She hadn't been for a long time. But during the long Texas nights and even on those cold, empty days when she was hunting for Jason, she couldn't remember who she was. Sam had died long ago, but now she wasn't sure if she even wanted to be Root.

It had been Root who had left Bishop all those years ago; the freedom of the rest of the world finally allowing her to reach her full potential. Root was the one that had gotten revenge against Hanna’s murderer and killed countless others. Nameless, blank faces she couldn't remember.

But it didn't matter. They were dead. It made no difference to them if their killer remembered their faces or not. It was those left behind that mattered. They were the ones whose lives were really destroyed. Hadn't Cyrus Wells taught her that?

But once he was gone and Root had a new mission from the Machine, it didn’t matter. She forgot. She pushed Cyrus and his dislike of guns, his odd outlook on the universe out of her mind. Out here in Bishop, Texas it was hard to forget. Hard not see.

She couldn't stop it. Cyrus Wells was everywhere she looked. And she imagined other faces, other lives she had took. She thought of the children left behind; brothers, sisters, friends... They haunted her existence, screamed at her in the night and left her cold and empty during the day.

She couldn’t do it anymore. The lies. The half-truths to hide why she was really here and why she had left Bishop in the first place, what she had done afterwards.

The truth, now that she decided it had to come out, felt like a flood trying to break a dam and her mouth couldn’t hold the current back any longer.

"Angie-"

The truth, so ready to leave her lips, was halted at the pass. An exclaim burst from Gen's mouth when she answered the door. Just one word, but it was enough to freeze the truth, to turn Root cold as she stiffened in the middle of a living room in Texas.

Her ears rang from the sound of it, her vision blurred until it became abstract like an impressionist painting.

_Not here. Why_ now _?_

Root had no answers. She had nothing but a brief second of hope that she had heard wrong. That she was mistaken.

Angie looked at her, the hurt retreating from her face only to be replaced with concern that Root did not want. She wanted Angie gone, far away so she wouldn’t be witness to this. It was selfish and cruel but it was the only thing Root could hold onto as she watched Angie's gaze turn from her, as she heard the sounds of footsteps: Gen's shuffling because she was too lazy to lift her feet properly and the other light from years of practice at remaining as silent as possible.

Root stared at the heavy boots - black of course - and wished they would make the sound they were supposed to. The crush and crack as they stomped all over her life. She tried to stare at them, hold her gaze there forever until they stepped away.

Angie's gaze was hot; Root could feel it burning through her skin and knew it wasn't just her. They were all looking at her.

Waiting.

With her neck as stiff as an uncooperative lid on a jar, Root lifted her head.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. At first glance, she was met with a stoic wall of silence, but Root knew better. She knew _her._

Confusion, realisation and something dark flashed across Sameen Shaw's face so fast Root was sure no one else had seen it. But Root did and the vision of it burned into her mind until she was sure it would never leave her until the day she died.


	31. Part 3: Chapter 31

This was a mistake.

She shouldn't have come here.

Shaw realised it the moment she stepped inside the house and saw the look on Root’s face.

What had she been expecting, really? A flash of a flirty smile, an innuendo hot from Root’s lips? Too much time had passed for that. Too much had happened. There would be none of that over the top playfulness anymore and Shaw wouldn't need to roll her eyes and let the annoyance show. Their dance was over, the music had stopped and another song began to play.

She saw the way Root’s body had stiffened, standing far too close to a woman Shaw didn't know. Too close to be strangers or neighbours with a passing acquaintance. And the way the woman was looking at Root and then at her, the way she so easily read the look Root was refusing to allow them to share... She worked out quickly who Shaw was and why she was here.

"I should go," the woman muttered. She was speaking to Root and when she didn't reply, the woman took a step towards her. Their lips had barely touched when Shaw forced herself to look away. Not prudish by any means, still Shaw found she couldn’t bear to look, to listen. Gen shot her a sheepish, apologetic look but even that Shaw couldn’t stand.

She was too late. She waited too long to come here and now she had missed her chance, perhaps lost Root for good.

She swallowed back the bitterness in her mouth, felt the heat prick at her skin and wished she had stayed on the bus from Corpus Christi that felt like it was trying to cook her alive.

The woman brushed past Shaw as she left, muttered a goodbye to Gen with the smallest smile Shaw had ever seen and still Root refused to look at her.

The silence grew until the duffel bag hanging from Shaw’s shoulder became heavy and she dropped it to the floor. It landed with a thud that snapped Root's gaze to her; her mouth a tight thin line, her eyes hard.

"What are you doing here?"

A day ago Shaw was sure she knew the answer to that question. Now that she was in Texas, she couldn't find the words to explain herself.

"She's just visiting. Right?" said Gen.

"Right," Shaw muttered. 

"For how long?" Root asked, staring at Shaw’s bag. She hadn't packed light. Almost all of the clothes she owned were in that bag, wrapped around her favourite guns. She hadn't come here with any real plan beyond not going back to New York anytime soon.

Shaw shrugged in response and turned to Gen. "There's something for you," she said, gesturing for Gen to open the bag.

Gen crouched on her knees, tugging the zip down with eager fingers.

"My comics!" Gen exclaimed, pulling a handful of them out with a grin on her face.

"Are they okay?" Shaw asked. "It was all I could fit."

Most of Gen's comic collection was still at her place in New York. Shaw hadn't realised how big it actually was until she went and looked. Gen had shelves of the things in her small room at Shaw’s place and more, she was sure, still at John and Zoe's. Gen took good care of them and despite having read most of them more than a few times, the only evidence they had been touched was the slight crease on the spines.

Shaw had stared at the shelves for a good few minutes, not having a clue which were Gen's favourites. In the end, she had picked a dozen at random and hoped they would do.

"They're great," said Gen, taking the rest out and inspecting them. "Look, Root."

Root ignored her, still staring at Shaw's bag like it held the answers to all the world's secrets.

She shouldn't have come straight here. She should have checked into a motel, waited a few days and got a feel of the place. But she couldn’t wait. She wanted to see Root and not from a distance. She didn’t want to spy from a car down the other end of the street. Maybe if she had, she would have been better prepared. As it was, she was reeling from this encounter and the woman with the brown and bouncing curls of hair. The woman who had kissed Root with more familiarity than Shaw could bear.

If she had waited, she could have found out all about this woman and maybe then she would have felt less like a threat.

"Do you want to see my room?" said Gen suddenly and Shaw thought it was the first thing that had popped into her head in order to break the awkward silence.

"Sure," said Shaw at the same time as Root said, "She doesn't care what your room looks like."

"It's okay, I don't mind," said Shaw and she really didn't. Anything to get out of this room and away from Root.

"Well I'll show her around town then," Gen added quickly. She dumped her comic books on the couch and rushed to the door. Shaw didn't move, staring at Root; but she may as well have been scrutinising a brick wall for all the attention she got. "Come on," Gen muttered, tugging on her wrist until Shaw shuffled her feet back towards the door. She caught Gen's eyes darting between her and Root; her mouth quirking nervously as she pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth until it turned a ghostly shade of white.

Outside, the sun was low in the sky, sparkling across the rooftops of Bishop. Shaw suppressed a shiver in the light breeze and followed Gen's steady pace.

There wasn't much to see. Bishop was small and what Shaw did see, she didn't like the look of. The town looked like something out of a horror movie; something that should have been abandoned long ago. Every time they turned a corner, Shaw half expected some mutated shell of a human to jump out at them from one of the many derelict looking buildings.

The thought of Gen and Root living in this place for the past four months made Shaw's head spin. She wasn't sure she would have lasted that long. But it had been the Machine's idea and although Shaw was still wary about the Artificial Intelligence, over the years she had learned to trust the Machine's judgement. But with this... from just the short glimpse she caught of Root, from what she had inferred from their brief phone conversations over the past few months, Shaw wasn't convinced Bishop had been the best place to send them. Sure, it was safe. It was very unlikely the Bratva would be able to trace them here. Root had done a good job of erasing all evidence that Samantha Groves had even existed.

They walked to the centre of town; Gen pointing out the few places she and Root had visited since they had been here. The Mexican restaurant that apparently had the best pancakes _ever_ and Shaw just _had_ to try them. There was a grocers and a Dairy Queen and a couple of other stores that sold bland and boring things.

At this time on a Saturday morning, the school was deserted. Gen led Shaw around to the back of the building towards the track field that was shared with the high school next door. They sat on the empty bleachers, the town waking up around them as Gen moaned and complained about how boring school was here.

"They are so behind everything I was doing in New York," she complained. "It's like kid stuff."

"You are a kid," Shaw pointed out and smirked at Gen's annoyed look.

"Well it's boring and easy and they still treat me like I'm stupid."

"Tough it out, kid," said Shaw and narrowed her eyes when Gen looked away. "You are keeping your head down though, right?" When Gen said nothing she added, " _Right_?"

Gen shrugged. "I _may_ have gotten detention once for skipping class."

Five months ago, Shaw would have been angry; quick to scold Gen for being so irresponsible and, worse, for getting caught doing it. Now she could only laugh.

Shaw had skipped her fair share of classes in high school too. Not because she was bored or just for the hell of it. She didn't mind the work and she mostly kept her head down and got on with it. It was the other people, her classmates, that she couldn't stand. They were so petty and entitled and Shaw had very little patience for most of them.

She wondered if it was similar for Gen. If she just needed a break from reality every once and a while.

"What about friends?" said Shaw. "You making any?"

Gen shrugged. "Just the one I guess. She's okay. Kinda weird though." Shaw smiled at that. "But everyone here is."

"And you're okay?" Shaw asked hesitantly. She _looked_ okay, but it had been so long since Shaw had seen her that it was hard to tell. Enough time had passed for Gen to get better at hiding it.

"I'm okay," Gen nodded. "I mean, it's boring as hell here. There's nothing to do and Root-"

Shaw stiffened. "What about Root?"

Unwillingly, she remembered that scene in Root's living room. A press of lips that weren't hers to Root's mouth.

"Who is she?" Shaw asked quietly. "The woman, from earlier?"

"Oh," said Gen and she didn't look as eager to tell Shaw all about life in Bishop anymore. "That's Angie. They're... sort of together."

"Right," said Shaw, staring down at her feet. The toes of her boots were dusty from the walk through Bishop. She was practically in desert country out here. It was hot and stifling and all Shaw wanted was to leave and take Gen with her. She didn't belong here. But Gen was stuck in this hell because of her.

A babble of words and excuses rushed out of Gen's mouth and _it just sort of happened_ and _I think Root needed it_. Words Shaw didn't want to hear.

"She wasn't doing good here, Shaw," Gen finished lamely.

And how much of that had been Shaw’s fault? Too much. There were others to blame too, for Root’s state of mind. Jason, the Machine… but Shaw thought she hadn’t done much to make things any better. Maybe she should have called more, or less. Perhaps she should have done _something_ sooner.

She wondered what she could have done that wouldn’t have made things worse

"Is she happy?" Shaw asked. When Gen didn’t say anything Shaw glanced up to find her frowning with her lips pursed in thought and decided she didn’t want to know the answer. This Angie woman, whoever she was to Root, she wasn’t Shaw. Even after barely two minutes of being in the same room as her, Shaw could tell that. She was more open, more affectionate with Root than Shaw had ever been.

Or ever _could_ be.

“I think…” Gen began. “She’s happy”

Shaw’s chest deflated and she struggled to swallow.

“But,” Gen continued. “She’s trying to be someone she’s not. I mean, she’s just…”

“It’s okay,” said Shaw, standing up abruptly. She didn’t want to hear anymore. “I shouldn’t have asked you.”

“Shaw –”

But Shaw was already halfway down the steps, glaring against the mid-morning sun. It was higher in the sky than it had been when they had set out and now it was blinding. The school grounds were still deserted, but she could hear shouts and cheers from the direction of the high school. A football game or something, she thought.

Gen’s footsteps were loud as she rushed to catch up, clutching at the straps of her backpack that she had grabbed as they left the house.

“I still have to show you the library,” Gen said. She was trying to sound normal, but Shaw could hear the caution in her voice.

“Sure,” said Shaw, shoving her hands into her pockets. She had no particular desire to see the library or anymore of this town. She was sick of it already.

“Cool,” said Gen. “Oh! Can you sign my petition?”

“Petition?” said Shaw, pausing when she realised Gen was no longer walking beside her. She had stopped to rummage in her bag and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and a pen.

“Yeah,” she said, straightening the piece of paper as best she could. “For them to get some comic books. The librarian is really snotty and she said she would only order some if I get 10% of the town’s population to sign it.”

“How much is that?” asked Shaw.

“Three hundred.”

“And how many have you got so far?”

“Including you? Um… five.”

Shaw snorted and took the petition and pen from Gen, motioning for her to turn around. “I think you are going to be waiting for those comics for a while, kiddo.”

Using Gen’s back to lean on, Shaw quickly scrawled her name across the page. Her hand hovered when she was done. Blinking in the dazzling sun, Shaw stared at the other names. Gen’s was at the top as “Gen Groves”, followed by Samantha Groves underneath.

Of course she would’ve had to go back to using her old name. It was a small town and people were likely to recognise her.

Just one more thing Shaw was responsible for.

As far as she was aware, Root didn’t have much fondness for her old name. Shaw didn’t know exactly why, but she could easily guess. It was from the part of Root’s life that she had left behind long ago. The part she wanted to forget about. Shaw didn’t think she had ever heard root use that name herself. There was Harold with his ever polite “Ms. Groves,” but to everyone else she was always Root.

It was then she realised what Gen had meant by Root trying to be someone else. She was trying to be Samantha Groves again. Out here, where she had been born, where she had grown up, she didn’t have much choice.

“Are you done?” Gen asked, trying to glance over her shoulder.

Shaw swallowed, dropping her hands so Gen could turn around. She glanced at the paper she was still holding and the two other names Gen had managed to acquire.

_Angie Howser_ stabbed at her like a needle in the jugular and she gripped the paper so tight she was sure it would tear if Gen tried to take it from her.

“Who’s Meg Grayson?” she asked, eyes roving down the list so she didn’t have to look at _that_ name any longer.

“Oh, that’s my friend,” Gen explained, taking the petition back and shoving it back into her bag. “Come on, the library’s not far.”

Once again, Shaw followed Gen through the dusty streets of Bishop.

The library wasn’t what she had been envisioning. The single storey square building was an ugly creamy yellow colour. Nothing like the grandness of Finch’s library in New York.

“Root doesn’t like coming here,” said Gen.

“How come?” asked Shaw, although she thought she might already know the answer to that.

“Something happened here,” Gen explained, glancing at Shaw out of the corner of her eye. “When Root was a kid.”

“Did Root tell you that?” said Shaw, eyes narrowing into slits. “Or have you been snooping?”

“She told me,” said Gen, looking insulted by the assumption. “Did she tell you?”

_No,_ Shaw thought. She’d had to do her own spying. Back in the days before she had agreed to work with Reese and Finch, after the ISA had burned her and killed her partner, Shaw had dug up everything she could find on the woman who had been posing as Veronica Sinclair. With the help of the file Finch already had on her – that Shaw and conveniently acquired for herself when Finch took Bear out for a walk one day – it hadn’t taken Shaw long to figure out Veronica Sinclair aka Miss May aka Caroline Turing aka Root was really Samantha Groves.

Finch’s file was thorough in its detail. He was pedantic, as Shaw was well aware of now, about keeping impeccable records. She had been, she recalled, impressed at the impassive way he spoke of his abduction and what Root had done to him and made him watch. He also carefully recorded what Reese and Carter had found when they had visited Bishop in search of clues about the mysterious Root.

Shaw had read Root’s origin story with disinterest. None of it told her where to find the woman who had managed to fool her, taser her and leave her tied to a chair for the ISA to find.

Hanna Frey had meant nothing to Shaw and she forgot all about the name, how she had disappeared one night from the library in Bishop and how, years later, Samantha Groves had orchestrated her killer’s death.

It wasn’t until one night, months after that first kiss behind a gas station on the way back to New York that Shaw remembered…

Movement woke her. Violent thrashing that had Shaw reaching for the gun on the nightstand. The metal was cool beneath her fingers, waking Shaw up instantly and clearing the fog from her brain.

No danger. Only Root squirming in her sleep. _This_ was exactly why Shaw preferred sleeping alone. She didn’t think she would ever get used to having someone beside her all night.

“Root,” she muttered but the sound of her voice did nothing to pull Root from her slumber. She repeated the name, louder, and prodded Root in the shoulder for good measure.

A muttered moan escaped Root’s mouth, small and pathetic like a baby animal caught in a bear trap. Shaw sat up in annoyance, the covers slipping down to her waist. She shivered in the cold apartment, eerily lit by the city’s lights creeping through the blinds at the window.

More incoherent noises. Shaw still couldn’t understand it, but she caught the odd word and stilled, listening carefully.

This wasn’t the first nightmare of Root’s that had abruptly stolen Shaw from her sleep. In the darkness of the night, it was hard to ignore. During the day, they never mentioned it and it was easy to pretend they never happened. That Root was fine.

Another shake of the shoulder, harder this time, and Root finally awoke.

Shaw hated this bit. She never knew what to expect. Tears, anger, shame… This was the most unpredictable Root could get and not in the fun, could pull a knife out on you at any moment, kind of unpredictable.

“Sorry,” Root mumbled. “Did I wake you?”

Shaw shrugged.

“It’s those new meds,” Root explained. She rubbed at her eyes, turning on her side to stare at Shaw in the dark.

“Yeah,” said Shaw and didn’t believe her for a second. “Who’s Hanna?” Root stiffened. Her face darkened, closed itself off and Shaw rushed to explain herself. “You were muttering the name in your sleep.”

She shouldn’t have asked. She blamed it on the late night, her exhaustion. She already knew about Hanna Frey, but part of her wanted to hear it from Root’s mouth.

“Someone I used to know,” said Root and turned until she was facing away from Shaw. She didn’t say anything else. The conversation was over and Shaw wasn’t sure which one of them had fallen back asleep first.

Now, outside the place where it had all happened, Shaw wondered if she should have pushed the subject. But she never did. They rarely talked about things like that. Shaw didn’t want to. Mostly she hadn’t cared to know. Now, beneath the hot Texas sun, she wanted to know everything.

She felt the swirl of something hot and sharp in her gut and wondered if this Angie woman knew. Root had told Gen, after all. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume she had told her new girlfriend too.

“Shaw?” said Gen, hovering by the library door.

Shaw blinked. “Do you… do you think if I had come sooner… that….”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” said Shaw. “That things would be different? With Root?”

She was asking too much. Again. This wasn’t for Gen to think about. But she had been here with Root all this time. Root had trusted her enough to talk about her past. Who else was Shaw going to ask?

“Honestly,” said Gen. “I think you would only have made things worse.”

Shaw nodded and swallowed through the sour taste in her mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come at all.”

“No,” said Gen quickly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Letting out a small smile, Shaw took Gen by the shoulder and led her inside the library. “Well that makes one of you, kid.”

*

Old country western music blared out of the car speakers. Root turned the volume up as far as it would go until it felt like her ears would bleed. Until she couldn’t think anymore.

But as hard as she tried to focus on the music, the rhythm of the bass, her mind always went straight back to that living room. To Angie's anguished eyes and Shaw...

She swallowed, tightening her grip in the steering wheel. She had to talk to Angie. She couldn’t think about Shaw. She _refused_ to think about Shaw.

Root pressed her foot harder against the accelerator, heedless of the Machine’s cautions to slow down. The sound and feel of the world rushing by her wasn't enough to dampen the dark cloud inside of her that had been swarming since she had heard those words uttered from Angie's mouth.

It was only when she reached the city limits of Corpus Christi that she slowed down, the congestion and smaller roads making it impossible for her to keep going at the same speed. She'd gotten here quicker than expected and now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember half the journey. It was a miracle she had made it here at all.

She found a space not too far from the bookstore and abandoned her car. Her footsteps were heavy, like she was walking through a swamp trying to suck her beneath the ground.

The store was busy. Root had to weave her way through the throng in search of Angie, accompanied by the vague thought that it was probably a bad idea to do this here.

Finally, she spotted those bouncy curls she loved to thread her fingers through and that tattoo that always seemed to fascinate her no matter how long she looked at it.

"Angie."

She was busy stacking shelves, but she paused at the sound of Root’s voice, a crime novel frozen in her hand.

"I’m working," she said tightly, barely sparing Root a glance before focusing on the books she was putting away.

"I need to talk to you."

Angie turned away, moving a few feet away from Root to sort through a table of bestsellers on sale.

Root grabbed her wrist, her skin burning beneath Root’s palm and Angie stilled.

"Please."

Angie gritted her teeth, staring at the front covers of the books in front of her. People glanced at them as they passed and Angie forced herself to smile at the customers.

"Fine," she said eventually. "But not here."

She slid away from Root’s touch and headed towards the back of the store. Root swallowed and followed, her heart thumping so hard it echoed loudly in her ears.

Pushing open a door marked 'Staff Only', Angie led Root through boxes and shelves of books wrapped in cellophane right up to the back where they were sure to be alone.

"You have about five minutes before my manager notices I'm gone."

"Angie..."

"What?" Angie snapped, crossing her arms tightly across her chest and refusing to look at Root. Not that Root could blame her for that.

"I... I can't do this," Root mumbled. She looked at Angie's hands, the nails digging into the flesh of her arms.

"Are you kidding me?" said Angie, sounding more angry than upset. "You're breaking up with me where I work?"

"That's not-" Root began, but that was exactly what she was doing. How else was this supposed to go? It had to end. She couldn’t keep lying anymore.

"Then what are you doing, Sam?"

"I don't know," said Root and wished she had never come here.

"Is this about your ex?" said Angie and Root flinched. Unwittingly, Shaw’s face swam into view before her eyes. Standing in the middle of her living room, she had looked out of place, awkward. Not like Sameen Shaw at all.

"Of course not," said Root and blinked the memory away.

"Then what?" Angie asked. "What did I do, Sam?"

"Don't call me that," Root snapped. Now Angie flinched, staring at Root in confusion. "My name is Root."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't get it," said Root, shaking her head. "You think you're in love with me but you don't even know who I am."

"Yes I do." When she stepped closer, Root stepped back. She hit the shelf behind her and pain screamed down her back. It snapped the next words out of her mouth like she had been whipped into submission.

"No you don't," Root insisted and felt like she couldn’t breathe.

"Sam-"

_You don't see it, do you? How good you are._

Pain flashed through her lower back, her chest, leaving her head throbbing.

_I think I'm falling in love with you._

"I killed your parents," Root blurted and in the heavy silence that followed she couldn’t be sure she had said anything at all.

But Angie stared at her with disbelief on her face and when Root didn't laugh, didn't announce that she was joking that disbelief turned into horrified comprehension.

"How– what…"

Her voice didn't sound like Angie's, more like a ghost. Distant and unable to let go. But that's what she was. She was Root’s ghost. The evidence, the product of what she had done long ago.

"The shooter," said Root. "I arranged from him to kill Jack Sanders. He was just some lowly dealer who decided to try and make a name for himself. He started dealing on other people's territory and his old boss wanted him taken out before his rivals came after him in retaliation. So he hired me."

"No…” said Angie, shaking her head. “You couldn’t have –”

"I was nineteen. But the great thing about using computers... it's anonymous. I set up the hit and I didn't care who else got hurt in the crossfire as long as Sanders was taken out and I got my money." It was so long ago now, but she could remember as if it had been yesterday. She had only just begun to make a name for herself as Root. She was cautious, careful not to be linked to anything by the authorities while she was still stuck in Bishop. But killing Trent Russell had given her a taste for something that couldn't be satisfied by her life in Bishop, taking care of her mother everyday with nothing to show for it.

"But that's who I am," said Root. "A killer."

Now that she had said it out loud, now that it was out in the open, she couldn't hide from it anymore.

"So," said Root. "You still think you're in love with me?"

She stared at Angie and found she couldn’t keep her gaze there for long.

Angie was deathly still. Her lips were a thin line, pressed so tight together they were as pale as her skin. Her eyes, so soft and full of wonder and mischief when she used to look at Root late at night were now empty and cold.

This wasn't the Angie she knew, but it was the Angie she had created.

Amongst the shelves in the stockroom there wasn't much space. Root was still pressed up against one, the metal digging uncomfortably into her back. But she was still within arm’s reach of Angie, so when she saw her body start to shake, her legs buckling beneath her, Root was able to catch her before she fell. Hands gripping Angie's wrists like she was afraid she would drown if she didn't, Root carefully lowered her to the floor.

Root had never seen Angie cry before. And she never wanted to again.

"I'm so sorry." Root wrapped her arms around Angie's shaking body. It wasn't enough. Nothing she could say or do could take back what she had done. "Shh," she said when Angie let out a sob. She gripped the front of Root’s jacket. "I'm so so sorry."

"Don't." Angie pushed away from her roughly and when Root refused to move her fists slammed weakly against Root's chest. "Get out."

"Angie-"

"Go," Angie cried. She pushed against Root again so hard that she fell back against the shelf.

Root opened her mouth, but there was nothing else to say. She slowly climbed to her feet and retreated back towards the store. Angie's anguished sobbing followed her like an injured animal and it wasn’t until she was free from it, surrounded by people casually shopping that Root felt her own resolve breaking. She couldn’t get out of the store fast enough and by the time she reached her car, she was crying so hard she thought she would never stop.

*

By the time Root had composed herself enough to feel able to drive, she felt wiped out. She still had the drive back to Bishop to go, but she couldn’t face going home, seeing Shaw in her living room. Somehow she knew Shaw would know; take one look at her and know instantly what Root had done.

And she wouldn’t care.

Sameen Shaw had no delusions about who Root was. She wouldn’t lose any sleep over the knowledge of all those Root had killed. In time, maybe that would be what Root needed. But right now, she wanted someone to scream at her, to be horrified and scared of what she might do next. Right now, she didn’t deserve indifference.

The drive back to Bishop was much slower and once again Root could barely remember any of it. She wasn’t in any fit state to drive and she was just lucky the roads were quiet today.

The ‘Welcome to Bishop’ sign loomed. Root felt sick the closer she got to it. Her hands started shaking as she passed the wooden sign, sticking out of the ground like the horn of a monster. She pulled over in a deserted Bishop street, forcing herself to breathe.

She couldn’t go home. Not yet.

It took a few moments for Root to get her bearings and once she had figured out where she was, she got out of the car and headed towards Bishop’s one and only bar: The Razorback.

Only the regulars were occupying the place at this time of day. Five men spread throughout the tables, sipping at bottles of beer or glasses of bourbon. They had been regulars when Root was a kid, she was sure, but she didn’t recognise any of the wrinkled faces with greying beards.

The place was nicer than she had been expecting. She was so used to seeing Bishop as dirty and desolate that she was always surprised to discover when it wasn’t all as it seemed. She did wonder why the owner had bothered to fix the place up. It didn’t look like anyone was really sober enough to appreciate the décor.

Root stepped up to the bar and didn’t have to wait long to get the bartender’s attention.

“What’re you havin’?”

She ordered a vodka, straight. Make it a double and had the glass up to her mouth before he had even finished pouring. She swallowed it down in one go, relishing the burn down her throat and slammed the empty glass onto the bar.

“Another?”

She nodded and this one she drank more slowly, sitting on a bar stool and making herself comfortable.

“You’ve got some nerve coming in here.”

The voice came from the other end of the bar. A man sitting hunched over a beer. Root had barely glanced at him when she first came in and wanted nothing more than to ignore him right now.

It had been over fifteen years, but she still recognised Cody Grayson’s nasally and whiny voice.

Root sipped her drink and ignored him.

“Did you hear me?” he said, more loudly this time. He was obviously drunk already and Root wondered if he would have had the nerve to talk to her sober. “We don’t want your kind in here.”

Root scoffed into her drink. “And what “kind” is that, Cody?”

“It’s bad enough you taint my daughter with that shit, but to come into the place where I drink…”

Root rolled her eyes and downed the last of her drink. Her feet were steadier than she thought they would be when she got off the barstool and headed towards the back where she thought the bathrooms were likely to be.

After she had relieved herself, Root washed her hands and caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She looked like shit. Blotchy skin and red-rimmed eyes. Had she always looked like this? Had Bishop done this to her and she just hadn’t noticed? Or was it before that? Had her year of hell, searching for Jason, turned her into something she no longer recognised?

Splashing cold water onto her face, Root felt her eyes burn. She refused to cry again and was surprised she even had anymore tears to give.

She wiped her hands and face dry with a paper towel and exited the bathroom to find Cody waiting for her.

He was leaning on the opposite wall and in this out of the way crevice, the rest of the bar was hidden from view.

“What do you want, Cody?” Root asked tiredly. He peered at her with his one good eye, his mouth curling in distaste.

“I want you and your little girlfriend to keep your filthy lifestyles away from my Meg.”

“Really?” said Root incredulously. “Homophobia? That’s the best you can come up with?”

Cody glared at her, his eyes tinted with confusion.

“Why don’t you just say what this is really about,” said Root.

“And what’s that?” Cody asked, his voice practically a snarl.

“Do you really need me to say it?”

She still remembered it. The day Brian Frey and his friends had gotten drunk and beaten Cody up so bad he lost sight in one eye.

It had been a bad day for Irene and booze and a week’s worth of meds was a bad combination. Root had found her and forced her to throw most of them up in time; but she had still carried her out to the car and took her to the ER in Robstown, just to be sure.

They were pumping Irene’s stomach when Cody was brought in unconscious and looking worse than he probably actually was. Root had barely recognised him at first and it wasn’t until later, bored and tired and trying to convince the ER doctor that her mother didn’t need to be admitted to psych, she had paid him a visit.

His eye was bandaged over and his broken left arm was in a cast, white as stone. He was conscious, though, and Root still remembered the glare he gave her. Astounding given that he only had one eye to do it.

“Come to gloat?” he said.

Root said nothing, just like she’d been doing since Hanna had gone missing and no one believed her.

But Cody understood her silence and he yelled at her to get out, angry and crying pathetically.

Fifteen years later, that anger was still there.

“You knew I had nothing to do with Hanna,” Cody spat.

Root shrugged. The vodka sat heavily in her stomach like she had swallowed acid and she wished she had never drank it at all.

Even if she hadn’t seen Trent Russell’s car that night, she knew Cody hadn’t had anything to do with Hanna’s disappearance. He was too busy following Sam home. Because without Hanna there to witness it, he could be like everyone else in this town. Incessantly cruel.

But Sam had dealt with far worse than Cody Grayson. She could give as good as she got. And even though he was older than her, bigger, Sam usually outwitted him on most occasions. But not that night. She had been too distracted with thoughts of Hanna getting into a strange car to notice Cody was following her. If she had, she wouldn’t have used her shortcut through the deserted park.

She didn’t hear Cody until he appeared in front of her from behind a tree, that usual glint in his eyes looking so much more malicious in the dark.

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” said Cody, eyeing her up and down with a leer. “Unless you _want_ me to tell everyone about those pictures you were looking at.”

“Go to hell, Cody.”

Cody didn’t like being told what to do, nor did he like being denied what he wanted. So, like most people Sam was quickly coming to learn, he tried to take it by force.

Years of being tormented by the kids of Bishop had taught Sam a few things. First of all, and probably most importantly, how to be quicker and she brought her knee up to Cody’s crotch with enough force to cause him to double over and gasp in pain. Then she ran and didn’t stop until she got home.

He never did tell anyone about those pictures. She had Hanna to thank for that, she supposed, and Cody’s own fear of telling people what he’d really been up to that night.

This time around in Bishop, Root couldn’t care less who he told. And maybe they still whispered behind her back, the residents of Bishop; looked outraged when Angie left her place first thing in the morning and kissed her goodbye right on the porch.

Root swallowed the memory away and tried to ignore the ghost of the feel of Angie’s lips against her own.

She knew antagonising Cody was never a good idea, but right then she didn’t care.

“Haven’t we been through this once before, Cody?” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just stupid.

“Wanting what you can’t have,” said Root, smirking at him in just the way she knew would set anyone as tightly wired as him off. He took a menacing step closer and Root’s eyes darted towards the bar. She couldn’t see very much and doubted anyone was listening in to their little altercation.

Cody snarled at her with his hands clenched tightly into fists and Root felt her heart beat wild with excitement.

“What are you going to do, Cody?” she asked, reaching behind her back. “Hit me like you hit your daughter?”

“You bitch,” Cody hissed, swinging his fist up. It was barely in the air and Root, far sober than him, moved quicker. The taser was at his crotch before his fist got anywhere near her. Far more sophisticated than the knee she had used all those years ago.

The feel of her finger against the trigger felt good and she kept it there, following Cody as he shook and writhed and dropped to the ground.

She would have kept going until the battery ran dry, but a voice in her head told her to stop.

Root heeded the Machine and she sneered at the drool dribbling down Cody’s chin, the smell of urine, pungent as he lost control of his muscles and therefore his bladder. She fell to her knees beside him, leaning down so she could speak directly in Cody’s ear.

“Touch your daughter again,” she said carefully to ensure Cody heard every single word, “and I’ll kill you.”

He could only grunt in response, but Root thought he had got the message loud and clear as she climbed to her feet and tucked the taser away.

Back out in the bar nothing was amiss. If anyone had heard the commotion they were either too scared of her to say something or they just didn’t care.

The bartender gave her a curious look as he wiped a glass clean with a cloth. “Another vodka?”

Root grinned. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

*

When Gen let slip that she and Root had been living off takeout and junk food for the past four months, Shaw was horrified.

After they finished at the library, Shaw took Gen to Bishop's small grocery store. It didn't have much, but Shaw was able to purchase enough fresh ingredients to make a decent meal. She chose not to think too much about Root’s reaction to her taking over the kitchen.

When they got back to the house though, there was no sign of Root and Shaw had free reign to cook what she wanted. She made Gen watch what she was doing carefully so at least _someone_ in this house would know how to cook at least one meal.

"She did try," said Gen, watching as Shaw vigorously chopped an onion into thin slices. "A few times. Root just sucks at cooking."

"She could have tried more," Shaw muttered and wondered what else Root had been neglecting. She regretted the thought as soon as it passed through her head. Shouldn't she be grateful Root had managed to survive this long here in the first place?

Shaw kept her mouth shut as she prepared the rest of the meal, but Root still never made an appearance, even long after it was ready. Sipping at the beer she had bought along with tonight's meal, Shaw watched Gen check her phone for at least the tenth time in the space of twenty minutes.

"Where do you think she is?" Gen asked.

Shaw shrugged and thought it was likely somewhere far from her. "She do this a lot? Leave you by yourself?"

"No," said Gen, frowning as she sat up straighter. "She usually never lets me out of her sight. Maybe I should call Angie."

Shaw stiffened at that and in order to change the subject, insisted they didn't wait for Root to start dinner.

Gen ate her meal with a gusto Shaw found amusing. "Been a while since you've had a decent meal, huh?"

"No," said Gen. "Angie cooked for us a few times."

"Oh," said Shaw and stared done at her plate, appetite now gone. "You like her, don't you?"

Gen shrugged as she chewed through a mouthful of food. "She's pretty cool. She likes comic books and stuff."

It wasn’t much, but Gen always was a good judge of character. And this Angie person, maybe she was good for both of them. As much as Shaw hated to admit it, she also couldn’t deny it either.

"You want seconds?" Shaw asked once Gen's plate was cleared. Her own was still rather full, but food was the last thing on her mind.

"Nah, I'd rather have dessert."

Gen helped herself to some ice cream while Shaw cleared up. She had made far too much food, but leftover parmesan chicken was far better than takeout.

Dishes cleaned and put away, Shaw turned to find Gen looking at her phone once again.

"Have you tried calling?"

"It just goes straight to voicemail," Gen said, her face creasing in concern.

"I’m sure she's fine," said Shaw, but wasn't sure she even believed it herself.

"I think her Angie were fighting before you came," said Gen. "Maybe they're... making up."

Shaw looked away.

"Sorry," Gen said hurriedly. "You probably don't want to hear that."

"Not really," Shaw agreed.

On the red-eye from New York to Corpus Christi, Shaw hadn't planned much beyond seeing Root and Gen as soon as possible. She hadn't known what to expect, so she hadn't booked herself a room anywhere for the night. But as soon as she laid eyes on Root and was met with nothing but hostility, her loose plans had firmed up more in her mind. She would have to find a motel. One preferably in Bishop. She didn't intend on making this a short trip by any means, but she knew Root wasn't about to welcome her into this house with open arms.

They spent the evening watching a movie and it wasn't until halfway through that Shaw remembered a promise she had made months ago.

"We were supposed marathon this, weren't we?"

On the TV, Indiana Jones was bravely fighting his way out of a burning building. Gen tore her gaze away from it to smile sheepishly at Shaw.

"It's okay."

"What did you guys do?" Shaw couldn’t imagine what Christmas in bishop must have been like. She didn't think Root was the sort to go all out and get a tree. Neither was Shaw, which was why a movie marathon and junk food seemed like a great idea. It wasn't quite a tradition, since they had only done it once before.

Still stinging from Root walking out on her, the last thing Shaw wanted was to spend a whole day with Finch and Daniel and Reese. None of them were big on holidays either, but with Gen... Harold had wanted to do _something_. He'd had a whole big meal and presents planned but when Shaw insisted she wasn't coming, Gen decided she wasn’t either and they ended up spending the day together just the two of them.

Shaw had promised Gen they would do the same the following year.

Unfortunately, that had never happened with her in New York and Gen stuck in Bishop.

"Root forgot, didn’t she?" said Shaw when Gen stared down at her hands in silence. Gen shrugged and Shaw sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. Root was just in a bad place."

Yes it was. It _was_ her fault. All of it.

The night wore on. Gen's eyes started to droop and eventually Shaw insisted she go to bed. Gen’s feet shuffled reluctantly towards the stairs, her eyes on the front door that Root still hadn’t walked through. With Gen upstairs asleep, it was easy for Shaw to get angry at that and she tried not to think about what Root was doing right now. Unwillingly, her mind conjured up images of Root, naked and writhing beneath Angie's ministrations. It wasn't until they stopped in the middle of it to turn and laugh at her that Shaw jolted awake.

When had she fallen asleep?

Some time ago, judging by the stiffness of her neck.

"You still here?"

Shaw stiffened and the room was suddenly filled with light. Shaw blinked up at Root standing by the lamp. Blinked again and she was gone, retreating to the kitchen. Shaw quickly climbed to her feet and followed her, an interrogation hot on her tongue. But when she saw Root again, standing in front of the fridge and actually got a chance to look at her properly, she saw the way she swayed on the spot, the way her hand fumbled as it reached inside the freezer and concluded that she was drunk.

"There's leftover parmesan chicken if you're hungry," said Shaw. "I made extra; I didn't know if your... friend was coming over."

"She's not my friend," Root muttered, slamming the freezer door shut. She had a bottle of vodka in her hand and she struggled to unscrew the cap.

"Girlfriend then," said Shaw, the word leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Not my girlfriend either," said Root. She tossed the bottle cap towards the sink and swallowed down a hearty gulp of vodka. Shaw had never seen her drink so easily. "Not anymore."

"I'm sorry," said Shaw and found she genuinely meant it. "I didn't mean to-"

Root scoffed. "It had nothing to do with you."

"I know," said Shaw. “But me turning up like that couldn't have helped."

"Why did you come here, Shaw?" Root asked abruptly.

"You wouldn't answer my calls," said Shaw. She had lost count of how many times she had tried to talk to Root, to explain how she wanted to try again or at least do _something_. But Root had never answered or called her back.

"So you decided to just turn up?" Root sounded incredulous and Shaw couldn’t tell how much that was to do with the alcohol she was still swinging back like it was water.

"I was worried," Shaw mumbled and resisted the urge to snatch the bottle out of Root's hand and pour its contents down the sink.

" _Now_ you're worried," said Root icily. She sounded so angry Shaw was taken aback by it.

"Root-"

"Don't," Root snapped, moving about three feet away when Shaw stepped forward. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"I just..." Shaw swallowed and closed her eyes. She thought about Root in her kitchen in New York, kissing her hungrily; the grin on her face as she had walked out the door like she couldn’t wait for more. She thought about Root in her bed, staring smugly down at her as Shaw lost all control and sense of herself. Shaw opened her eyes and the Root before her was so far from the one in her mind it was hard to believe they were the same person. Maybe the Root in her head didn't exist. "I just want you to be happy," Shaw finished eventually.

Root stared at her in surprise for a moment and then she laughed. A cold, humourless laugh that stabbed at Shaw's chest.

"Happy?" said Root incredulously. " _You_ did this to me. You brought me here. You and the Machine."

"I know," Shaw murmured and wished she could take it all back. She stared at the bottle in Root’s hand. It was almost empty now and she thought it was a miracle Root was even still standing. "I should go," she said. She didn't want to see Root like this anymore. So broken and lost.

Her bag was where she had left it by the front door when she arrived and she slowly picked it up, feeling the tiredness slow her muscles. She wasn’t sure where she was going. Back to New York wasn’t an option. There wasn't anything there for her anymore.

Root’s voice behind her made her pause with her hand on the front door handle.

"It's late. You're not going to find anywhere to stay tonight."

Shaw glanced at her over her shoulder but Root wasn't looking at her. Instead she was staring down into the depths of her near empty vodka bottle. Shaw wondered what answers she was seeking in there and doubted she would even find them.

"You can sleep on the couch."

"Are you sure?" Shaw asked, her voice coming out more like a croak.

This time, Root met her eyes. She searched for something for a moment, but Shaw didn't know what or even if she found it in the end.

"Don't think it means anything," Root said harshly and disappeared up the stairs before Shaw could even begin to say thank you.


	32. Part 3: Chapter 32

One night turned into two and although Shaw barely saw Root for the rest of the weekend, she felt her presence looming over everything in the house.

It was sparsely decorated. The modern art paintings Shaw spotted in the hallway up the stairs didn’t look like something Root would have bothered spending the time picking out herself when she and Gen had first moved to Bishop. They must have been left by the previous owner, or the Machine had decided some colourful, abstract art would lighten the place up a bit.

But you could hang up a Picasso in the middle of the living room and the place would still feel haunted. It was Bishop itself, Shaw supposed, that put a bleakness on everything. Although Root’s mood certainly wasn’t helping.

Hiding up in her room for most of the day, no doubt suffering from the after effects of all that vodka she had consumed, Root didn’t emerge until late afternoon. Stumbling down the stairs, she took one bleary look at Shaw, sitting on the couch watching TV with Gen, before storming out the front door.

“She’s just…” Gen tried, staring sheepishly after Root. She never finished the sentence. She didn’t need to.

“Still mad at me?” Shaw suggested. Gen shrugged, smiled apologetically and turned back to the TV.

They didn’t see Root for the rest of the day. And in those brief glimpses Shaw got of her, when she came home in the middle of the night to a dark house and stumbling and crashing about loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood, she never once commented on Shaw still occupying the couch.

Maybe she was too drunk to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care.

It didn’t matter which; Shaw knew this impasse couldn’t last and thought she would already have been kicked out if it weren’t for Gen.

“Did she do that before?” Shaw asked quietly early Monday morning as Gen wolfed down her breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast.

“Huh?” said Gen, her voice sounding muffled with the fork still shoved in her mouth.

“Root,” Shaw elaborated. “Did she go out all night and leave you alone?”

“Oh,” said Gen, dropping the fork onto her plate with a clatter. She suddenly didn’t look all that hungry anymore. “No. This a new thing.”

“Because I’m here?” Shaw asked. It felt strange voicing her concerns, especially to Gen.

Gen shrugged.

“Or because of _her_?” Shaw asked bitterly.

“I don’t know,” said Gen. She started to push the eggs around on her plate with her fork. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to be having and neither did Shaw. But now she had started, she couldn’t stop. “Maybe it’s just a combination of things.”

“Maybe,” said Shaw, unconvinced.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re here though,” said Gen. She smiled and slurped down the rest of her orange juice. “I need to get to school.”

Unexpectedly, Gen agreed when Shaw offered to walk with her. They didn’t talk much and Shaw preferred it that way. She still listened carefully as Gen talked – or rather complained – about her timetable for the day, but Shaw got the impression she was fussing just for the sake of fussing.

“I’ll meet you here after school?” Shaw suggested as they stood outside the main gate.

Gen nodded, muttering a quick goodbye before rushing towards the main front door and a girl with fiery red hair. She paused halfway and turned to Shaw with a frown as she walked back towards her.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” said Shaw, shoving her hands awkwardly into her pockets.

“You’re not going to stand out here all day, are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“No,” said Shaw quickly, although she hadn’t been planning on venturing very far. “That would be creepy.”

“Yeah,” Gen agreed. “So what are you going to do then?”

Shaw shrugged. Go back to the house and risk facing an angry, hungover Root?

_No thanks._

“I’ll think of something,” Shaw said in response to Gen’s sceptical look. “Maybe explore the town a bit.”

“You saw it all the other day,” said Gen. “Trust me, there’s nothing else to see.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Shaw’s mind about that, but she still had no desire to go back to the house. She would just have to find something in this hell hole of a town to keep her occupied until Gen finished school.

Boredom was something Shaw had never coped with well. It left her restless and grouchy and the last thing she wanted to do was start an argument with Root because she had nothing better to do.

“Aren’t you going to be late for class?” said Shaw when Gen continued to hover in front of her.

Shrugging, Gen bit her lip and slipped the backpack from her shoulders. She rummaged around inside for a few moments before pulling out a battered paperback.

“Here,” she said, thrusting it into Shaw’s hands. “There’s the Mexican place down the block. The pancakes are awesome and the coffee is pretty decent too apparently. That should keep you occupied until school gets out.”

Shaw stared doubtfully at the copy of _The Hunger Games_ in her hands.

“I’m not –”

“Hiding?” said Gen and scoffed. “Yeah right. But I don’t really blame you. I’d hide too.”

With that, she swung her bag back over her shoulder and headed towards her friend.

“I’m not hiding,” Shaw muttered darkly to no one.

Clutching the paperback in her hand, Shaw watched as Gen greeted the red haired girl, chatting happily as they walked into school together. The door slammed shut behind them; a loud clanging sound that echoed across the school grounds and rang in Shaw’s ears. The bell sounded shortly afterwards and a few straggling kids rushed inside. Some of them shot her odd looks as they passed and she thought she must have made a strange sight; hovering awkwardly near the school with nothing but some kid’s book in her hand and the concealed weapon at her back.

If she stayed out here any longer, she was sure to gain unwanted attention from a teacher or a janitor or even a parent. The last thing they needed right now was the police getting involved. Shaw hadn’t anticipated how she would slip herself into Root and Gen’s cover here. Sticking as close to the truth as possible would be the easiest thing to do.

However, when she thought about it carefully, Shaw wasn’t sure she could even articulate what the truth was. That Gen used to stay with her sometimes after Shaw saved her from a gang of drug dealers and dirty cops? That her billionaire friend had paid for Gen’s education over the past couple of years until Gen had to leave New York? That her and Root – _Samantha_ – used to be… _something_?

None of it seemed satisfactory for explaining their lives and who they were. Who _she_ was. But, Shaw knew, they would have to come up with something eventually. It wouldn’t be long before the people in this town started to notice her.

Still full from breakfast and far too wired already to face drinking coffee for the next few hours, Shaw decided to skip the Mexican place for now. Instead, she decided to go for a walk. The last time she had ventured around Bishop she had been seeing it from a thirteen year old’s point of view. Now she wanted to see it for herself.

After twenty minutes, Shaw had all the routes to and from Gen’s school memorised. She could picture them in her mind and pinpoint the house Root and Gen had been living in for the past four months. Then there were the roads leading out of Bishop. Three in total.

It was easy for her to calculate which would be the quickest route to take if she had to get to Gen’s school in a hurry and, likewise, if they had to get out of town fast.

But the town was small, her options limited. The roads travelling away from Bishop weren’t prone to traffic; making it far too easy for someone to spot them leaving. Or, if someone were waiting to ambush them, they would be easily spotted.

Shaw didn’t like it. There was nowhere to hide in this place.

As she scoured the rest of the town, Shaw half expected to run into Root. Part of her wanted the forced encounter. Anything was better than Root avoiding her all day again. But all she met on her travels was strange and curious looks from the locals. Soon enough, she predicted, _everyone_ in this goddamn town would know who she was.

Around lunchtime, Shaw headed back towards the Mexican place. She passed the junior high school on the way and tried to peer in through the windows and spot Gen. The sun reflected against them, blinding her from seeing anyone and she kept on walking with a mild air of disappointment.

At the restaurant she ordered the pancakes Gen had be raving about and forced herself to smile at the waitress. If she was going to be staying in Bishop indefinitely then the last thing she wanted to do was piss off the only place in town that made decent pancakes.

And they were more than decent, Shaw discovered, when she shoved a forkful into her mouth. Fluffy and light, they were almost as good as the pancakes from her favourite diner in New York.

The waitress, tucking a lose strand of blonde hair behind one ear, grinned at Shaw when she came over to check everything was okay with her meal. There was an almost appreciative glint in her eyes as she noticed Shaw’s near empty plate.

“I was hungry,” said Shaw sheepishly and asked for more coffee. The waitress nodded and returned a few moments later with a coffee pot to refill her cup.

She was left alone after that, thankfully. Shaw found the waitress’ cheery attitude and Texan drawl grating. That was something she was going to have to get used to while she was here. The accent. She had stayed in places with strange accents and languages she could only speak a handful of words in far too many times to count. This felt different somehow. It felt permanent.

Shaw cracked Gen’s book open and began to read as she finished her pancakes. It wasn’t the worst thing she had ever read, but her eyes were rolling automatically about three chapters in. The story felt familiar to her too. Hadn’t this been made into a movie? The one Gen had forced her into going to see? Shaw had dosed off about thirty minutes in and woke up to fighting and bloodshed that she had been more than surprised to see in a movie supposedly for kids. Not that she was complaining by that point. The movie had managed to grab her attention.

After she had finished her meal, Shaw sipped at her coffee until it turned cold. So engrossed she was in what she was reading that she completely forgot about it until the waitress came over and asked if she wanted another refill. Shaw declined and asked for the check instead. Gen would be getting out of school soon and she didn’t want to be late meeting her.

She paid her bill and left a decent tip that had the waitress smiling at her in a way that was far too familiar to be professional. It wasn’t until she was walking out the door, the book tucked under one arm, that she could feel the waitress’ eyes still on her and realised she was being checked out.

_Shouldn’t have smiled so much_ , Shaw thought and fixed her usual scowl on her face when she got outside.

The sun burned down on her and Shaw had to blink rapidly against the glare. She was starting to hate the Texas heat and longed for the coolness of New York in springtime.

There was still about fifteen minutes to wait when Shaw reached the school. She lingered on the street out front and pulled her cell phone from her pocket, dialling the number she knew by heart. Breathing in heavily, Shaw wasn’t sure what to expect. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, after all.

“Finch,” said Shaw as soon as the line picked up.

“Ms Shaw?” he replied, sounding surprised. “Is everything alright?”

“Uh, sure,” Shaw lied. Even if she were inclined to tell the truth, she wasn’t sure how to put it into words. Or even where to start. “I’m just… checking in.” She cringed at her choice of words.

“I see,” said Finch, like a stern and patient police officer entirely convinced that the person he was interrogating was lying their ass off. “I believe you are no longer in the city.”

Shaw stiffened and clenched her teeth so hard she thought she would wear away the enamel if she wasn’t careful. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

“Hardly,” said Finch quickly.

“Harold…” Her voice dripped with warning.

Harold sighed into the phone and it was easy for Shaw to picture him pinching the bridge of his nose impatiently.

“I’m just making sure you haven’t gotten bored and done something… rash,” he said.

The line went silent, almost like he wished he hadn’t just said that sentence. If they were having this conversation face to face, Shaw wouldn’t be surprised to see him cowering behind his many computer screens in fear of her wrath.

“Well I haven’t,” said Shaw bitterly. “Volkov is still happily sending us around in circles.”

“Hmph,” said Harold. “Is that why you suddenly disappeared?”

“It wasn’t sudden.” She had been planning on coming here for weeks. It would have been sooner if Root had answered her calls. Shaw hadn’t intended on showing up unannounced, but Root really hadn’t left her much choice, had she?

“Nevertheless,” said Harold, “I assume all is well? With Genrika and Ms Groves?”

“I guess,” Shaw muttered.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing then,” Harold said.

Shaw frowned. She didn’t think there was anything good about this situation at all.

“It’s been a while since Genrika has been able to settle down,” he continued.

Maybe, Shaw agreed, but she still would have preferred it be anywhere else but Bishop, Texas.

Still, there was no denying Gen was less miserable than she had been back when she was still attending boarding school in upstate New York. She had made a friend here, a real one, and apart from skipping class a few times, she appeared to be doing well in school.

It was Root being here that Shaw was concerned about the most.

Although they had only spoken a handful of times since Shaw’s arrival, the brief, terse words out of Root’s mouth said enough. What Gen _wasn’t_ saying said a lot too. This place wasn’t good for Root and Shaw didn’t think she had even scratched the surface of understanding just what it was like for Root here. Perhaps it was a miracle she had survived this long.

_Or something –_ someone – _else._

She tried to ignore the insistent and nagging thought, but she couldn’t stop the images that flooded through her mind of Angie Howser and Root…

Shaw was grateful when Harold spoke again. The distraction impeded her thoughts for a little while at least.

 “It does make me wonder about after this is over.”

“What do you mean?” said Shaw.

“So much has changed in Genrika’s life in such a short period of time,” Harold explained. “I’m hesitant to move her again.”

“Finch,” said Shaw slowly as if speaking to someone particularly dense, “they can’t stay here. This was only ever temporary.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Harold said reasonably. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know what this place was like, what it meant to Root.

“Finch, I’m bringing them home as soon as this is over,” Shaw vowed. _And the sooner the better._

Harold sighed. “Very well.”

“You know,” Shaw began hesitantly. “There is still _my_ way.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that,” said Harold coldly. “Good day, Ms Shaw.”

He hung up before Shaw could reply.

Huffing as she shoved the phone back into her pocket, Shaw’s mind was once again filled with images she did not want now that she was free of distractions. It didn’t matter that Root had said it was over between her and this Angie woman, Shaw still couldn’t stop herself from imagining them together at that very moment.

Was that what Root had been doing for weeks while Gen was in school? Been with Angie?

Naked, sweaty bodies and the groans and moans she hadn’t heard in over a year filled Shaw’s head. Shaw closed her eyes and swallowed. As much as she hated it, as much as she would have preferred it was her with Root, she was glad Root had found _something_ to keep her sane here.

Thinking about Angie just being a quick and easy fuck to distract Root made her breathe a little easier, even if she knew that wasn’t entirely true. Angie had been more than that. Her gut roiled at the thought. She was glad of the bell sounding from the school building announcing the end of the school day and seized hold of the distraction.

Kids flooded out of the building. Shaw scanned their faces for Gen and eventually spotted her coming around from the back of the building. She was with that red haired girl again, still talking animatedly as they approached Shaw.

“Hey,” said Shaw. She shuffled her feet awkwardly under the scrutiny of the red haired girl and wondered how much Gen had told her about her. Not much, judging by the curious look. A flash of annoyance swam through Shaw that Gen hadn’t bothered to mention she was in town to her only friend and quickly shoved the book she was still holding towards Gen. “Here.”

“Oh,” said Gen. “Thanks. Did you like it?”

“Not really,” said Shaw at the same time as the red haired girl leaned closer to mutter something in Gen’s ear.

Gen glanced at Shaw and laughed.

Scowling in response and feeling her cheeks burn hot, Shaw said, “What?”

“Meg’s just wondering who you are,” said Gen.

Shaw wasn’t sure what was so funny about that question or why Gen was _still_ grinning at her in a way that made her look stupid. Even her friend had a smile on her face now.

“Sam,” said Shaw, holding her hand out awkwardly before she remembered that shaking hands wasn’t something that teenagers did in greeting and let it fall awkwardly to her side.

Meg was looking at her strangely before she turned back to Gen. “They’re both called Sam?”

Gen coughed awkwardly. “Um… yeah, I guess. Could you give us a minute?”

Not waiting for a response, Gen quickly grabbed onto Shaw’s elbow and pulled her aside, far out of Meg’s hearing.

“You couldn’t have come up with a better cover before you got here, _Sam_?” said Gen. “I thought you used to be a spy.”

Shaw scowled. “She’s thirteen. What’s she gonna do?”

The look Gen gave her was scathing. “A lot,” she said vaguely. “You don’t know. Thirteen year olds can be very resourceful, you know.”

“Yeah,” Shaw agreed, “if they’re you.”

That got a smile out of Gen. It quickly turned into a frown, however.

“What happens if I slip up and call you Shaw?” she asked. “It’s bad enough watching myself around Root. I don’t want to have to call you both Sam. That’s way too confusing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Shaw. She doubted anyone in this town was working for the Russian Bratva. And even if anyone did try to look her up, she doubted they would find anything. The Machine would make sure of that.

“But we’re supposed to be careful,” said Gen with a noticeable tinge of worry. “My father knows who you are. What if he –”

“Hey,” said Shaw. She grasped Gen tightly by the shoulders and ducked her head until they were eye level. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” said Gen. She smiled shyly and glanced away.

“Gen,” said Shaw and waited until Gen met her gaze again. “I mean it. I’m not going to let him find you. You’re safe here.”

“Okay,” said Gen, but she still didn’t look convinced.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Shaw, squeezing Gen’s shoulder slightly before letting go.

“Actually,” Gen began slowly. Whatever she was going to say next was cut off by a shadow looming over them that made Gen stiffen.

“Miss Groves?”

Shaw clenched her jaw at the name and turned to find a woman in a tight fitting business suit and blonde hair tied into a fierce looking bun that made her whole demeanour look severe. She stared down at Gen sternly before glancing briefly over to Shaw.

There was something about this woman that Shaw immediately disliked.

“Principal Dawson,” Gen greeted warily.

“And who is this?” the principal asked, staring at Shaw suspiciously.

“Oh, um… this is Sam,” said Gen. “She’s, um –”

“You must be Sameen Gray,” said the principal, completely ignoring Gen’s awkward explanation. “The second name on Gennifer’s emergency contacts,” she elaborated at Shaw’s blank look.

“Oh, right,” said Shaw. The Machine must have… she felt oddly grateful towards the AI.

The principal turned away from Shaw and back to Gen once again. Shaw got the impression she wasn’t impressed by Shaw’s sudden appearance in Bishop. Or at her school.

“Gennifer, do we need to discuss loitering again?”

“No,” said Gen and Shaw thought it must be taking everything Gen had not to start scowling.

“Good,” said Principal Dawson. “Then I suggest you and your…” She paused, face creasing into a sneer as she glanced briefly at Shaw once again and the dislike on Shaw’s part increased. “I suggest you and Miss Gray here go home.”

“We were just going,” said Gen.

The principal gave them one last hard look before disappearing back towards the school.

“That was your principal?” said Shaw, glaring after the woman.

“Yeah,” said Gen. “She’s kinda scary.”

“Her?” said Shaw, unimpressed. The woman flaunted her superiority around like she was made of gold and everyone wanted some of it, but the power was all an illusion. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go home.”

“About that,” said Gen, looking sheepishly at her feet. “I already said to Meg we’d go over to hers. To finish our homework.”

“Oh,” said Shaw, shoulders weighing down with disappointment. “Right. Well… I’ve been waiting for you all day,” she added in annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” said Gen quickly. “But…”

“But what?” said Shaw. Her eyes narrowed when Gen bit her lip nervously.

“It’s just…” Gen began hesitantly. “Shouldn’t you talk to Root? And wouldn’t you rather do it without worrying about me spying on you?”

Shaw sighed. Gen did have a point; she was avoiding Root and the sooner they talked it out the better. All the more better without Gen being involved too.

“Fine,” said Shaw eventually, already anticipating just how badly this was probably going to go. “Just make sure you’re home for dinner. I’m gonna make mac and cheese and _not_ that crap out of a box.”

Gen grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

*

The house was as still as a crystal clear lake when Shaw got back. She used the spare key Gen had given her that morning to let herself in and found it empty as expected.

Where in this shithole of a town could Root possibly be going all day? Her car was still out front, so wherever it was, it couldn’t be too far.

Shaw decided to make the most of having the place to herself. Grabbing a beer, she settled down on the couch and turned on the TV. It was far comfier being used like this rather than a bed. But, she supposed, she couldn’t really complain too much. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else for her to go. If the motels around here were anything like the rest of the town… Shaw shuddered at the thought and was just grateful that Root seemed to be indifferent to her continued stay on her couch so far.

Flicking through the channels, Shaw couldn’t find anything that warranted her attention. She wished she hadn’t given Gen back her book. It had just started to get interesting, even if she did find the main character utterly annoying. Eventually, she settled on some dumb 80s action movie. It had guns and explosions and car chases so it kept her entertained for a while. Just not enough to occupy her mind and stop it from wandering, from trying to decide what she could possibly say to Root that she hadn’t already said. Words had never been her thing and, right now, the wrong ones were all she seemed to have.

Perhaps all Root needed was time. But the more time Root spent in this place, the further away from Shaw she became.

The conversation with Harold from earlier that day played in her head. She should have pushed harder, maybe even told him where they were and played on his empathy. Perhaps then he would have understood their need for urgency and why she had to get Root out of here as soon as possible.

The front opened abruptly with a bang as it crashed into the wall. Shaw jumped to her feet, hand reaching for her gun and only stilling when she realised it was just Root, stumbling as she came inside.

Drunk.

Again.

“Are you okay?” Shaw asked as Root fumbled to get the door shut.

Root paused, giving Shaw an icy glare before kicking it closed with her foot.

“Why do you care?”

“Root…” Shaw said tiredly. She closed her eyes briefly, shutting out the view of Root stumbling towards the kitchen.

“Is that where you’ve been all day?” Shaw asked. “A bar?”

“It’s none of your business,” said Root. She opened the fridge, peered inside blearily for a few moments before slamming it shut again.

“Have you even eaten anything at all today?” She wasn’t really expecting an answer beyond the inevitable glower.

“Probably not,” said Root as she sat down at the kitchen table. She almost missed, but caught herself at the last minute, holding onto the table until she was sure her butt was firmly on the chair. Two attempts later at resting her elbow on the table, she rested her head in her hand and stared up at Shaw lazily. “Although I did have some questionable looking peanuts.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratory fashion and went on: “I don’t think old Davy Edson washes his hands after going to the bathroom.”

Shaw frowned in disgust. “You should drink some water. And eat something. I’m just about to start dinner,” Shaw added. “Gen should be back soon.”

“Gen?” said Root. She glanced around the room, frowning in confusion as she only just realised Gen wasn’t around.

“She’s at her friend’s doing homework,” Shaw explained.

Root stood up abruptly. Suddenly she didn’t look so drunk anymore, making Shaw wonder if she had really been drunk at all. How much of it had been an act to get under Shaw’s skin?

“What?” said Root, alarmed. “You let her?”

“What’s the big deal?” Shaw frowned. “She’ll be back in time for dinner.”

But Root wasn’t listening to her explanations. She had hurried off through the house, searching through the living room: the coffee table, under the couch and in between the couch cushions. All the while looking frantic.

“You don’t get it,” Root was saying. She sounded more Texan than ever, induced by the panic that Shaw couldn’t understand. “You have no idea what our lives are like here. What these people are like.”

“And whose fault is that?” said Shaw angrily. “Every time I called you told me nothing.”

“What,” said Root, climbing back to her feet, “you think just because you made a few phone calls you did good?”

“That’s not…” Shaw began defensively. “You’re acting crazy.”

But she had seen this kind of panic on Root’s face before when it came to Gen’s safety. Far too many times.

“No I’m not,” said Root stiffly, but there was a flash of doubt in her eyes. “Gen’s not supposed to wander around town by herself. It’s not safe.”

“The reason you’re both here is because it’s safe,” said Shaw. “She’s not Hanna.”

Shaw regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. The effect they had on Root was visible. She flinched, the colour drained from her face and Shaw caught the sight of her hands shaking before she clenched them tightly into fists.

“I’m sorry,” said Shaw. “I shouldn’t have –”

“How did you know about that?” said Root, whispering like a ghost. “Did Gen tell you that?”

“No,” said Shaw quickly, but not fast enough to keep the anger from flooding Root’s face. “She didn’t tell me anything. Finch has a file on you. I read it once, after you were playing Veronica Sinclair.”

“You had no right,” said Root.

“Root –”

“I’m going after Gen,” said Root and began her search once again.

“Looking for these?” said Shaw, dangling the car keys in front of Root.

Root’s face tightened in response as she reached for them, only for Shaw to pull them out of her reach at the last second.

“I don’t think you should be driving.”

“Give me the keys, Shaw.”

“No.”

Root’s hands curled into fists again, held tightly at her sides. She closed her eyes and Shaw couldn’t tell if she was angry or upset. Or perhaps even both.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” said Shaw.

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Root.

“Try me.”

But Root was getting impatient and after staring Shaw down for several seconds and getting nowhere, she let out an angry huff of breath and stormed past Shaw and out of the house.

The door slammed shut behind her, so hard that Shaw was sure she could feel the ground shake beneath her feet. She clutched the keys tighter in her hand until the metal dug into her flesh, the pain clearing her head a little. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Root was onto something. She had been panicked like this before, in New York just before the Bratva tried to take Gen. What if she was right now too?

Shaw couldn’t take the risk that Root was only projecting her fears. Not when it came to Gen’s life.

“Fuck,” Shaw muttered angrily and followed Root out of the house.

It had only been three days and already Shaw was fucking things up. They were supposed to be safe here, careful. If Shaw couldn’t even trust Root’s instincts…

But she had been desperate to get on Gen’s good side, to make sure that at least one of them was still speaking to her. She still had a lot to make up for, but she’d had hoped that if Gen could forgive her then Root wouldn’t be that far behind.

She hadn’t been thinking about the ground rules and boundaries Root might have set for Gen and she had gone and let Gen play her like she was an instrument in the hands of the world’s most skilled musician.

By the time Shaw had made her decision to follow Root she was already halfway down the street. Shaw clutched the keys tighter in her hand and unlocked the car. The steering wheel was burning and Shaw thought she might bake in this sauna of a car if she had to stay in it for any length of time. It seemed to take forever for the AC to have any affect and by the time the steering wheel was cool enough to touch, Shaw had lost sight of Root.

When Shaw turned the corner at the end of the block, Root hadn’t gotten much further. Despite appearing sober during her outburst, Shaw could see her staggering slightly even from a distance. She was walking slow, attempting to keep in a straight line and failing quite spectacularly. But drunks were good at fooling themselves into believing they weren’t that drunk. She had seen Daniel do it plenty of times in Moscow.

Shaw felt frozen at the thought. Three days coming home drunk didn’t automatically equate to a drinking problem, no matter how worrying it was. Shaw didn’t like it and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a recent thing. That her unannounced presence here was the cause of it.

Slowing the car down as she approached Root, Shaw rolled down the passenger window.

“Root –”

“Go away.”

Shaw wanted to roll her eyes at the petulant way the command left Root’s mouth. Instead she took a deep breath and forced herself to be patient.

“Root, please,” said Shaw, as soft as her voice would allow. “I’ll drive you there.”

Root ignored her.

“I’m sorry about what I said, okay?” said Shaw. “It was way out of line.” She tried to sound apologetic, but thought she might have come across as rather desperate instead. Either way, Root finally stopped. She held her entire body stiffly and the look on her face was far too calm for Shaw to believe it to be true. “And you’re right. You know more about what’s going on here than I do. I shouldn’t have –”

“Fine,” Root snapped. She got into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Root –”

“You need to take a left up here,” said Root, staring out the window with her jaw set determinedly.

“You can’t keep ignoring me, Root,” said Shaw tiredly. The engine was still idling and she was grateful for the cold air blasting out at them. It suited Root’s icy demeanour at least. “We need talk about this.”

“No, we don’t.” Root’s tone was firm; tired now more than angry.

“Root…”

“I can’t do this right now,” Root blurted. “Can we not do this right now?”

And there it was. The crack Shaw had been waiting for, hidden beneath all that anger and rage and booze. It was gone after a second; Root ignoring her again and the wall back in place and Shaw recalled Daniel’s words.

_Anger is so easy to hold onto. Moving on, forgiveness… love. They’re all so much harder._

With Root barely speaking to her, lashing out because she needed _someone_ to blame, Shaw thought he might have been right. All she could do was wait it out.

“The next left?” said Shaw. Root swallowed slowly before nodding and Shaw drove them in silence to the outskirts of town.

When they reached the right street and Root told her to pull over, Shaw thought she was joking. But as she stared at the sparse trailers, encrusted with decades of grime and the odd bungalow that looked like it could crumble and collapse at any second she started to understand Root’s concerns about Gen coming here.

“It’s the one on the end,” said Root.

Shaw stopped in front of… well, she wasn’t about to call it a house. Root quickly got out of the car, marching towards the front door. Shaw turned the engine off and followed her.

“You used to live here, didn’t you?” said Shaw. She wasn’t sure. Not until Root froze and stared at this place that seemed so quiet and menacing.

“Did she tell you that too?” said Root, her voice deathly quiet.

“No,” said Shaw firmly. “That one was a guess. I told you, Gen never told me anything.”

“Right,” Root scoffed and headed towards the house.

Shaw hang back, watching as Root slammed her fist on the door. When it didn’t open right away, she started yelling for Gen and Shaw cringed at the sound; glancing around and checking to see if they were attracting any unwanted attention. But nobody was paying any mind to them and eventually the door opened, revealing a man with hair greying slightly at his sideburns. The skin of his left eyelid was marred and scarred over and even from her position, still out on the street and quite some distance away from the front porch, Shaw thought he might not be able to see from it. From his good eye, he squinted at Root. A sour glower on his face that did not deter Root in the slightest from accomplishing her goal: find Gen and get the hell out of there.

“You got no right to be here,” the man was saying – practically snarling – to Root.

Root ignored him and called over his shoulder for Gen again and the man’s attention diverted to Shaw. He threw her a similar look. Perhaps it would have made a weaker minded person take a step back, but not Shaw. She stared back and decided there was more to this passing acquaintance between him and Root.

Eventually, Gen appeared in the doorway, her friend right behind her with an apprehensive look on her face.

“Come on,” said Root. She latched onto Gen’s arm and dragged her out of the house. “We’re leaving.”

“But –” Gen began. Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the man yelling at Root.

“Neither you or her are welcome here,” he shouted to Root’s retreating back. “My Meg’s not to hang around with her anymore.”

With that he stormed back into his house, pushing his daughter ahead of him and slamming the door shut.

Shaw said nothing as they approached, just opened the back door for Gen and watched them both carefully. Tears watered Gen’s eyes, but the hard set of her jaw told Shaw that she wasn’t about to let them fall. Instead, she focused on her anger, wrenching her arm out of Root’s grip and whirling around to face her head on.

“I really hate you sometimes,” she yelled.

“Hey,” Shaw scolded, but neither one of them were listening to her.

“I told you not to come here,” said Root. And when Gen protested that Meg was no longer allowed at their house, Root shook her head and ordered her to get into the car.

There was a moment of silence as they glared at each other until Gen eventually broke their stalemate and got into the back seat. The entire thing shook with the force of the door slamming shut and Shaw wasn’t entirely sure she liked the silence that followed, broken only by the sounds of Root breathing heavily.

“Are you –”

Root interrupted before Shaw could voice her concern. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“You want to tell me what the deal is with you and that guy?” Shaw asked once she was behind the wheel again.

Root glowered at her. It was clear she wasn’t going to hear that particular story anytime soon.

Back at the house, Gen climbed out of the car before Shaw had even come to a full stop in the driveway. Unlocking the front door with her key, she had disappeared inside before either Root or Shaw had unfastened their seatbelts.

“She shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” said Shaw, unsure of how Root would respond. Root shrugged, staring at the house like it was looming down at her, haunted with ghosts. “I’ll talk to her.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Root and got out of the car. Shaw followed, wanting to say more. But with Root like this, with Shaw having said enough already and putting her foot in it, she thought it best she say nothing at all.

For now.

She found Gen in her room, blasting some god awful music out of her laptop on the floor by the bed. She lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling and completely ignoring Shaw.

But Shaw was patient. She waited her out, arms crossed as she leant against the doorframe and eventually Gen sighed and said, “I’m not apologising.”

“I never asked you to,” said Shaw.

“She’s being totally unreasonable. First she makes me get a friend and when I do, she won’t let me hang out with her.”

“She’s just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need to be protected,” Gen snapped. “I’m sick of it.”

Shaw shrugged at that. Maybe Root was being unreasonable, but she hadn’t liked the look of that neighbourhood or Meg’s father and thought Root’s fears might be a little bit justified.

“That may be true,” said Shaw. “But it doesn’t excuse you acting like a whiny, bratty teenager.”

“I _am_ a whiny, bratty teenager,” Gen pointed out stubbornly and slammed her laptop closed. The music cut off abruptly, leaving the room thick with silent tension until Gen spoke again a few minutes later. “Why do you care anyway? You don’t even get it. You aren’t stuck here.”

“No,” Shaw agreed. “And neither is Root. She could leave at any moment if she wanted to. But she hasn’t. She stuck around because of you. So how about you stop being ungrateful about it for five minutes.”

Gen continued to scowl up at the ceiling but after a few moments, once Shaw’s words had sunk in, she sat up and sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologise to,” said Shaw.

“I know,” said Gen, but she made no move to go find Root. They both needed some time to cool down anyway.

“Oh and by the way,” said Shaw as she made to leave. She waited until she had Gen’s full attention again before continuing. “Play me like that again and we’re gonna have a problem.”

It wasn’t her most menacing tone, far from it, but it was serious enough to turn the still contemptuous lines on Gen’s to face to a more shameful look. She wouldn’t be trying to play her and Root against each other anytime soon.

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” Shaw continued. “I suggest you do your homework until then.”

Although she doubted dinner would be a pleasant affair. Not if things were still tense between Gen and Root. As for her and Root… it seemed like they would never take a step forward, always moving backwards, focusing on where things went wrong.

Shaw thought she had moved beyond their past. Now she wasn’t entirely sure. Being around Root again… when she was in New York, thinking about Root and Gen stuck here against their will, it was easy to forget what it had been like when she _didn’t_ know. Those endless months of not knowing where Root was, whether she was dead or alive, were the worst of Shaw’s life. She had been angry and, she thought, rightly so. But she had let it go, she had moved on and she had decided what she wanted.

To be with Root again.

Except it wasn’t going to be easy. And it hadn’t been easy the first time around either. Shaw had allowed herself to forget that during the last four months Root had been here.

Remembering the times when they had been good together was a lot more fun than thinking about how hard it had been adjusting to having someone in her life, her home. She wasn’t used to being around the same person for any extended period of time and Root got on her nerves for more than half of it. But she had gotten used to it. She couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, it had become easier to live with Root or when she had started to like it.

Although it was still fairly bright outside, the kitchen was dim without the overhead lights turned on. But Root seemed to prefer it, sitting alone at the kitchen table with a bottle of vodka, half empty, on the table in front of her.

“Is that really helping?” Shaw asked, watching as Root tipped back a glass at her mouth and swallowed down the clear liquid. It didn’t even seem to affect her, like it was merely water. Shaw wasn’t fooled, even if she couldn’t detect the alcohol’s potent scent, she knew Root.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” Another glassful made its way down Root’s throat and Shaw wondered if it tasted as bitter as the tone of her voice. Had she sounded the same? Those few weeks after Root had come back, had Shaw been just as bitter and angry and unreasonable?

Perhaps it was a good sign, an indication of how far she had come since then, that Shaw could admit to herself that the way Root was acting was just the same as she had been. It may even be just as well founded. It gave her hope that it wouldn’t last. If she had been able to move on from it, then so would Root. Patience, on her part, would be required. But the longer they all stayed in Bishop, the harder it would be to find that patience.

It was that, perhaps, that prompted the next words out of Shaw’s mouth. It wasn’t even any of her business and it most definitely wasn’t a subject she was comfortable dwelling on for too long. To ignore it would be foolish, however, no matter how much she hated it.

“Have you spoken to her?” Shaw asked.

Root paused midway through pouring her third glass. Her entire body had stiffened, her face turning cold. Root didn’t need to ask who Shaw was referring to.

Shaw wasn’t expecting an answer, so when she got one she found herself staring at Root in surprise.

“I’m the last person she’ll want to speak to right now.”

“Why?” asked Shaw before she could stop herself. “What happened between you two? Gen said –”

But she cut herself off at Root’s dark look. Gen was in enough trouble without Shaw adding to it.

“Why do you care?” said Root. Stalling for time.

Shaw shrugged. “Because you do.”

Root scoffed at that and downed her third glass. Empty, she slammed it down onto the table and stared at it, gripping it so tight her knuckles had gone tense.

She could deny it from now until the end of time, but she wouldn’t be able to hide it from Shaw. Everyone else might be fooled by her ruthless, aloof attitude, but Shaw had learned quickly to see beyond the act and this might just be one of Root’s best performances yet.

Silence consumed them for several minutes and it wasn’t until Shaw had started busying herself with preparing dinner that Root finally spoke again. Maybe it was easier for her to speak when she could pretend Shaw was only half paying attention.

“I killed her parents.”

_That_ wasn’t what Shaw had been expecting. She wasn’t sure what she had been, but definitely not that.

“When?” she asked, the confusion clear in her voice.

“When I was in Bishop before.” Her voice was distant as she stared at her fingertip lightly tracing the rim of the glass. Shaw got the impression Root wasn’t really speaking to her. This was just an excuse for her to voice it all out loud. “They were just…” She shook her head and didn’t say anything more.

“Did you know?” Shaw asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “When you and her… started to –”

“No,” said Root and stood up abruptly. “I think I’ll skip dinner.”

“Root –”

“And I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell Gen about this.”

“I won’t,” Shaw promised. When Root tried to leave, Shaw found her hand reaching for her wrist. Her grip was loose enough for Root to pull herself free, but she remained still and it gave Shaw that sense of hope again. That feeling that, maybe someday, everything would be okay again. “I…”

“I don’t need your pity,” Root said harshly. Anger flashed sharp in her eyes.

“That’s not –”

“I don’t need _you_.”

Shaw’s hand fell away and it wasn’t until they were no longer touching that she realised just how close they were standing. Swallowing through the rawness of Root’s words, Shaw struggled to find something, _anything_ , to say.

After a moment, when neither of them moved, with fire burning in her gut, Shaw decided it wasn’t going to be that easy. Root could fight her every step of the way, but Shaw would stand and take it, feel each blow like it was last and yet would remain standing tall like the soldier she used to be.

“I’m not going to let you push me away, Root.”

She was expecting Root to resist her words, to keep fighting. But the sentence that left Root’s mouth seemed to suck most of the air out of the room, much like it sucked the hope from Shaw’s chest and stomped all over it.

“It’s already too late for that.”


	33. Part 3: Chapter 33

Giving up wasn’t in Sameen Shaw’s vocabulary.

And it wasn’t like she had anything else to do anyway. With Gen at school for most of the day and Root “working” from home, they could hardly avoid each other. Although, most days, Root tried to slip away before Shaw could stop her. But it wasn’t exactly hard to guess where she was going. Bishop only had one bar after all.

Two days after they had dragged Gen home from her friend’s house, Shaw decided it was time to make a move. To pull Root out of…whatever this was she had found herself stuck in.

Although Shaw had been crashing on the couch for several days, this was the first time she had ventured anywhere near Root’s bedroom. She knocked on the door lightly and pushed it open when a voice called at her to come in.

“Hey,” said Shaw, eyes scanning the room for Root. The place was a mess; clothes on the floor, bed unmade. There was even empty takeout boxes on the nightstand. Shaw wasn’t sure when she had managed to sneak up them up here, but at least it meant she _was_ eating. Root had never been the tidiest person but this was a whole new level. “I was just…”

All coherent though flew from Shaw’s brain as she came face to face with a completely stark naked Root, still slightly damp from the shower and towel drying her hair. Closing her eyes, she realised Root had done this on purpose, for whatever reasons. Perhaps merely just to get a reaction out of her. Or to be cruel.

“I didn’t… I… what are you –”

“What’s the matter, Sameen?” said Root. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Stop it,” Shaw snapped.

Root smirked, but it was completely without amusement as she slowly pulled her underwear on, followed by a pair of pants and a loose fitting t-shirt. Shaw, wanting to look away, could only stare, mesmerised by her movements.

For the first time since she had met her, Shaw was glad when Root was finally dressed.

“Did you need something?” said Root once she was finished.

Shaw coughed and hoped her voice didn’t sound as strained as she anticipated it would be. “Yeah, I was just… I’m heading up to the city later. I thought you might like to come. And… we could maybe grab lunch or something… talk…”

“I’m busy,” said Root. She took a pill bottle from the bedside table and quickly popped two of the little white pills into her mouth. Glancing around the room, presumably for something to swallow them down with, her eyes landed on the bottle of nearly finished vodka that she seemed to be carrying with her everywhere these days.

Shaw frowned as she swallowed the pills down with the remains of the alcohol and tossed the empty bottle onto the bed. “I don’t think you should be drinking with those.”

Root rolled her eyes. “Don’t remember asking you.”

She began rummaging around in the closet and Shaw took the opportunity to grab up the pill bottle Root had abandoned on the bedside table.

The prescription was made out to Samantha Groves. She must have gotten it from a doctor in Bishop or somewhere near. Shaw was glad she appeared to be at least _trying_ to take care of herself.

Seeing that name again though, the name of the drug that Shaw was all too familiar with… She hadn’t forgotten, not in the slightest, about what Control had done to Root. But with the pills in her hand, with Root’s real name on the bottle… it all seemed far too real.

She recalled, suddenly, a flat lining heart monitor, blood oozing out of a leg wound. Daniel and Reese staring at her as she refused to give up.

And three little words, spoken in a rush from lips that thought they were going to die.

The pill bottle was snatched abruptly from her hand and Shaw opened her eyes, not sure exactly when she had closed them.

Where she was expecting to find the anger that was getting uncomfortably familiar, she instead found something else in Root’s eyes. A flash of fear as she hid the pill bottle away into her pocket.

“Was there something else?” she asked.

“No,” said Shaw slowly, unsure of Root’s strange behaviour. But everything she did lately seemed out of place to Shaw.

“Good,” said Root. “Then get out of my way.”

“Are you going to the Razorback again?”

Root’s face hardened. “What? You think because you fixed Daniel’s little problem that you can fix me?”

_Little problem_. Shaw hadn’t wanted to face it and although Root hadn’t said it outright, neither of them could deny now that she did indeed have a problem.

“I didn’t fix him,” said Shaw. “He helped himself because he wanted to get better. But you…”

“What?” Root asked, her eyes daring Shaw to go on. But Shaw was done with arguing and she knew if she voiced what she was thinking that was all they would be left with.

“Nothing,” she said eventually and stepped aside to let Root past. There was only the briefest of hesitations in Root’s eyes, like she was expecting this to be some sort of trick. But when Shaw didn’t make any move to stop her, she finally left, leaving Shaw standing in the middle of her bedroom listening to the sounds of her climbing down the stairs and then, a few minutes later, the front door opening and closing.

*

Although it wasn’t exactly the day out she had been planning, Shaw was just relieved to get out of Bishop.

Corpus Christi was a small city, but it had enough to keep her occupied for a few hours. Just walking around the busy streets helped to clear her head a little and when she got tired of it, her feet starting to get sore, she headed back to where she had parked Root’s car. There was still a couple of hours yet before Gen got out of school and, unable to face the silence of a house that echoed with Root everywhere she looked, Shaw decided to do some much needed grocery shopping.

There was only so much they could get from the little store in Bishop and Shaw decided to stock up on spices and herbs and other essentials, planning meals in her head that she thought both Root and Gen would enjoy. She bought plenty of greens too, and was already anticipating the argument with Gen about having a well-balanced diet where ice cream didn’t count just because vanilla came from a plant.

By the time she got back to Bishop, Shaw had barely managed to put anything away beyond the stuff that needed refrigerated before Gen got home. She came in through the back door, which was unusual and, really, that alone could have ignited Shaw’s suspicions. But the red and swelling skin, shining bright around Gen’s left eye told her everything.

Gen tried to hide it, ducking her head as far as it would go as she made a hasty retreat towards the living room. By then, Shaw had already seen and all the frustration she had been building up since coming to Bishop congealed into a hot, sticky anger that she struggled to control.

“Who did this?” Shaw asked, gripping onto Gen’s arm before she could run away.

Shrugging, Gen pulled out of her grasp. “Just this kid at school. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Shaw repeated, her voice low and deadly. “Who was this kid?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gen said hurriedly, trying to get away again.

“I want to know who did this and what your damn school is doing about it,” said Shaw.

“Nothing,” said Gen. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” Shaw insisted. She stepped away from Gen and opened the freezer, pulling out the bag of frozen vegetables she had only just put away. She wrapped them in a dish towel and pressed it gently to Gen’s cheek just below he swollen eye. “Hold this in place until the swelling goes down. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?” Gen called, but Shaw was already gone through the back door.

*

In the end, Root hadn’t gone to the Razorback. She was sick of the place; the regulars and the way the bartender would always look at her strangely every time she walked through the door.

Except it wasn’t just that. It was the way Shaw seemed to know exactly what she was doing and where she was going. She didn’t like being so predictable. And she didn’t want to prove Shaw right.

But she couldn’t face staying in that house any longer. Not with Shaw around. And even though she was heading up to the city for most of the day, Shaw had been sleeping on the couch long enough for her scent to have started to linger. Root caught a whiff of it that morning as she was pulling on her shoes and the ache it instilled in her chest was unbearable. Being around Shaw was unbearable.

_I’m not going to let you push me away._

It didn’t seem to matter what Root did, she could provoke Shaw from now on and through the rest of eternity and she would get no reaction. The few dark looks, the odd flustered gaze through the cracks… it wasn’t enough. Shaw had always been the stronger one and Root wasn’t sure she could ever beat her.

After taking a long walk around town for most of the morning, Root had ended up in the diner off the highway that ran through Bishop. The coffee tasted like crap, the food was either undercooked or overcooked and the place felt like it could cook her alive, but it was quiet and no one bothered her. No one mentioned the shaking hands as she lifted up her cup of coffee or the sweat that dripped from her skin, the way she would rub at her temples as her head screamed at her to get out of there and make it all stop.

She both wanted a drink and didn’t want to give into her growing dependence on it to get her through the day.

It was the only thing that shut the noise out for a few hours, let her sleep peacefully and free of dreams and nightmares that haunted her both day and night. Sipping bitter, cold coffee was her way of proving to herself that it wasn’t a problem. She had this under control. She wasn’t going to be like her mother, drinking the last years of her life away in the hope that oblivion would come sooner rather than later and finally give her the peace she was seeking at the bottom of every bottle.

Irene Groves had never been able to admit she had a drinking problem either. Other problems… yes, but not the drink. It was just to help her sleep. It helped with the pain in her back. Excuse after excuse until Sam couldn’t hide from it any longer, until the excuses started coming out of her own mouth too.

“Refill?”

Root jumped. The waitress was hovering over her with a pot of coffee in one hand, the other high on her hip as she stared down at Root.

“Oh,” said Root. She stared into her still half full cup. It had gone cold hours ago and was starting to thicken. She wanted to throw up. “No. Just the check.”

The waitress nodded, disappeared with her coffee pot and Root’s cup and returned a few minutes later with Root’s check.

Root left a more than generous tip. Not because the service was particularly noteworthy, but because she couldn’t stand to wait in this place any longer for her change.

It was slightly cooler outside. But this was Texas and any breeze that found its way here was usually short lived.

The diner had been dim and Root’s eyes struggled to adjust to the new brightness. When she could see again, she checked the time on her phone and was surprised to find that school had already finished for the day. There went her plans for picking Gen up from school to distract herself. But maybe they could still do something. They hadn’t talked properly since that day at Cody Grayson’s and Root was starting to miss her.

It hadn’t been perfect, but Root had been starting to enjoy their little routine. She wasn’t sure exactly where it had all gone wrong. A voice, small and sinister in the back of her head, nagged at her that it had never been right in the first place. Root was too controlling, transferring her own fears onto Gen. It hadn’t been fair and she was still doing it, even now.

She had been absolutely terrified when she found out Gen was at the Grayson’s, especially after what happened between her and Cody at the Razorback. Root couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t take revenge out on Gen, a far easier target that Root was. Keeping Gen as far away as possible from that place had been her only objective, even if that meant Gen hated her for it.

But she would make it up to her. Root wasn’t sure how, but she would try.

The car wasn’t in the driveway when she got home. Root frowned before remembering that Shaw was in Corpus Christi. She felt a flash of annoyance that Shaw had taken her car without asking. Without it, she felt trapped here and before she could think about it, there was a tightening in her chest, her airway clogged up with panic and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

_Not out here. Not where all of Bishop can see._

Root forced herself to walk. Her legs felt weak, like they were made out of paper ready to crumble. But she made it inside. Leaning heavily against the door, Root struggled to breathe. Her vision faded and there was nothing but the sound of rushing blood in her ears.

As always, it passed within a few minutes. She still felt shaky and sick but not like she was about to pass out if she dared open her eyes and move.

“Root? Is that you?” a voice called from the kitchen.

Root moved slowly, utilising all her strength to appear somewhat normal in front of Gen.

“Hey,” said Root, “I was just coming to look for you. I thought we could… What happened?”

Standing frozen in the doorway, Root stared at the makeshift icepack Gen was holding against her left eye. Anger flooded her veins, hot like melted steel.

“That girl Erica and her friends were picking on Meg again. So I shoved her into a locker and after school they jumped me. They only managed to get one punch in though before the janitor scared them off.”

“Oh, Gen,” said Root. “Let me see.”

She carefully took hold of Gen’s wrist and lowered the ice from her face. Around her left eye, the flesh was all puffy and swollen, the skin an angry red. It probably wasn’t as bad as it looked, but it enraged Root all the same despite Gen’s reassurances that she was okay.

Gen shrugged off Root's concern, even managed to force a smile on her face, bright and warm, with just that hint of mischief that was just so typically Gen. It was so good that Root couldn’t tell if it was a lie. She found herself smiling back, weak, but that was all she could manage at the moment.

The smile faded, turning into a frown as Root's gaze roamed the kitchen and took in the still full grocery bags and packets of food on the counter not yet put away.

"Where's Shaw?" Root asked, feeling a heavy weight sink to the bottom of her stomach, threatening take her down and drown her. "Did she see?"

She reached for Gen's cheek again, but Gen pulled away as she nodded.

"She left a few minutes before you got home. She was pretty mad."

"Damn it," said Root. She knew exactly where Shaw was going and if she was feeling just as frustrated as Root about being stuck in Bishop, then she didn’t like to predict what Shaw would do. "Come on."

She took hold of Gen's wrist and gently tugged her along, but it wasn't until they were outside that she remembered Shaw had taken the car and had a significant head start on them. They would just have walk.

Root kept up a brisk pace, glancing over her shoulder every now and then to make sure Gen was still following. She was, but falling behind. Holding the icepack to her cheek while walking at the same time was proving difficult.

Even taking the short cut Root knew, it still took them over ten minutes to get to Luehrs Junior High. Her car was parked on the street out front. No sign of Shaw.

"Wait here," said Root, ignoring the way Gen's lips pursed in protest and heading inside.

She didn’t like how familiar these walls felt again. Granted, she had only been called in to see the principal about Gen once. But after what happened today... even if Shaw hadn't jumped the gun and came here herself, Root knew it was only a matter of time before Melanie Dawson was demanding another meeting.

Root passed a few loitering kids and the odd teacher on her way to the principal's office. Still no Shaw. Root couldn’t be sure how long she had been here. She hurried her pace, rounding the corner to the principal's office and meeting the wide eyes of the school secretary.

"You can't go in there," she called.

Root ignored her, heading for the sounds of raised voices in the office beyond. Although her appearance was abrupt, neither Shaw nor Dawson paid her any attention.

Shaw was on her feet, angrily staring at the principal who sat far too calmly behind her desk, palms lying flat on the armrests of her chair. Her face was pinched in its usual severe sneer, but beyond that she seemed unaffected by having her office invaded.

"Sameen," said Root cautiously and when that got no response, she rested her hand carefully on Shaw’s arm. She could feel the muscles stiffen beneath her palm, but otherwise Shaw gave her no other reaction; attention fully focused on Dawson.

"I want to know who the hell hit my kid," Shaw hissed. Root got the impression that this wasn't the first time she had asked that question. She was growing impatient and although reckless wasn't something Root would associate with Sameen Shaw, she had no doubt that the hand currently moving towards Shaw's back was reaching for the concealed weapon she carried with her everywhere.

"Sameen, you can't do this here," Root said, low enough so Dawson wouldn't hear. "Let me handle it. Please."

Teeth grinding together, Shaw gave Root a scathing look. Words weren't needed for Root to understand her meaning. She didn’t like the way Root had been handling things here at all. But the hand reaching for the gun stilled; although Root thought it was more to do with what the principal said next than Root's own persuasive skills.

"It is my understanding that Gen started the fight."

"Bullshit," said Shaw.

"Only because Erica Rogers has been bullying Meg Grayson," said Root. "But I take it you don't care about that."

"That's not the story I heard," said Dawson. "Several students claim they saw Gen push Erica into her locker for no reason."

"Did it ever occur to you that they’re lying?" said Shaw.

“Did it ever occur to _you_ that Gen is?" Dawson countered.

Shaw said nothing to that and even Root wasn't so sure how much of the truth Gen had left out.

"Regardless of who started it," Dawson continued. "Both Gen and Erica will be attending detention for the rest of the week. This school does not tolerate fighting."

"That's-"

"Fine," said Root. She tightened her grip on Shaw’s arm and began pulling her towards the door, heedless of the angry glare. That had never been able to unnerve her. The smirk on Melanie Dawson's face, however... _that_ turned Root's blood into ice.

As soon as they were clear of the principal's office and the outraged looking secretary, Shaw pulled her arm out of Root’s grip.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Shaw snapped.

Root glanced up and down the hallway. Those kids were still hanging around the lockers and Root really didn't want to have this conversation here. She wondered if they were the ones that had come forward telling tales of Gen pushing other girls into lockers. It wouldn't be long before the whole school knew. Parents too. Root felt nauseous at the thought. So much for a low profile.

"Are you listening to me?" said Shaw.

Root wasn't. She was heading for the exit, trying to look calm as she felt the scrutinising gaze of the teenagers on her.

"You can't do this here," Root said.

"Do what?" said Shaw. “Look out for Gen?"

They were outside, the silence of the school grounds made the question out of Shaw's mouth seem loud and forbidding.

"You can’t act like this," Root snapped. She stopped, several feet away from the car but not far enough where Gen wouldn't hear. She still held the icepack to her eye as she leaned against the hood of the car. At the sound of them arguing, her gaze had dropped to her feet. To listen better or give them some sense of privacy, Root didn't know.

"Like what?" said Shaw, sounding like she genuinely didn't know. "Would you rather I was like you? Passive and letting everyone walk all over me?"

"That's not..." Root began, feeling the anger and frustration flare at Shaw’s words. Suddenly she wanted to let it all out; unleash it all onto the nearest target until there was nothing left. "You can't act like this if you're going to stay here. We have a cover to maintain."

"Why don't you just say it," said Shaw. The muscles in her neck clenched and Root wondered if she had finally done it. Pushed too hard and far and met Shaw’s limit of patience. "Just admit that you don't want me here."

"I _don't_ want you here," Root blurted.

Shaw stared at her. She hadn't really believed it. Not until Root had said it. The anger drained from her face, bleaching her skin and leaving her ghostly pale. On anyone else, it might have looked like they were about to faint. But not Sameen Shaw.

Instead, she swallowed, set her jaw and said, "Fine."

Root couldn’t understand how one word could feel so _final_.

"Fine," Shaw said again and pressed the car keys into Root’s hand.

"Shaw-"

Her fingers lingered for the briefest of moments before she was pulling away. She didn’t even look at Gen as she walked down the street.

But even after she was gone Root could still feel her touch. She closed her eyes, felt her fingers burning from it. But maybe that was just the heat of Texas. They were in hell after all.

_I'm not going to let you push me away._

No, Shaw was too stubborn for that. She wasn't one to mince words either, throw them around lazily because she thought that's what people wanted to hear. When she said something, she meant it. Which was why, when Root opened her eyes, she was surprised to find the street quiet and empty. Shaw was gone and it was just her and Gen again.

"Should we..." Gen began. She was watching Root carefully. Almost wary.

"Let's just go home." Root unlocked the car and got inside. It was cooler than she thought it was going to be and didn’t turn the engine on quite yet. Gen sat in the passenger seat, staring down at the bag of frozen vegetables - melted now - in her hands.

Gen bit her lip. "I'm sorry you guys are fighting because of me."

"We're not fighting because of you, sweetie," Root assured her. Even if Gen hadn't gotten into a fight, Root knew Shaw’s patience wouldn't have lasted forever. They would have had this argument eventually, possibly even worse.

"I'm still sorry," said Gen. She clutched the bag a little tighter, feeling through the plastic to the vegetables inside. "And I'm sorry I said I hated you."

Root swallowed through the lump in her throat. She didn’t want Gen to take it back. She deserved to be hated.

"But just..." Gen continued. "Sometimes you make me so _mad_."

Root smiled humourlessly. "The feeling's mutual, kiddo."

Gen didn't smile. She scowled down at her hands and Root realised she still wasn't forgiven for the other day.

"You understand why you can't go over there, don't you?"

Gen shrugged.

“You can still see Meg at school."

"I know," said Gen. "But it's not the same. Anyway I'm sorry I called you a bitch."

Root frowned. "When did you call me that?"

"Mostly in my head," said Gen. "But I'm still sorry."

Root smiled, leaning across the console and circling an arm around Gen's shoulders half expecting Gen to shrug her off. When she didn’t, when she rested her head on Root’s shoulder instead, Root let out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

"It's okay, kiddo," said Root. She couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering to the window, staring at the town of Bishop and wondering where Shaw could possibly have stormed off to. She closed her eyes, pressed her lips to the top of Gen's head. She was warm and smelled like home. "How's your eye?"

Gen shrugged. Or at least tried to in her current position. "It's okay. I think I need more ice though."

"Mm," Root hummed, not in any particular rush to move. She could feel the muscles in her neck and back straining but she would suffer through it for a little while longer if it meant staying close to Gen. For a second, she could almost pretend it was just the two of them, somewhere else with no heartache and pain and loss and guilt following them. It couldn't last. It never did. They were in Bishop, Root’s heart felt like it would break out of her chest and she was tired of hurting the people she cared about.

She thought of Angie, a crying wreck on the stockroom floor. Why had she just left her there? Why hadn't she done something? But Root had already done enough. Destroyed enough. She had never meant to ruin Angie's life twice.

"Can we go home now?" said Gen. Her voice sounded so small that Root knew she didn’t mean their home in Bishop. But Root wasn't sure they even had a home anywhere else. Not anymore.

"Sure," said Root, making no move to let go. She held on to Gen a little tighter and although things weren't fully okay between them yet, Root allowed herself to hope. "Oh and by the way," Root went on. "You have detention for the rest of the week."

"Awh," Gen groaned. "How's that fair? They jumped me."

Root let her go, shrugging as she straightened herself. "Technically, you did start it."

Scowling, Gen didn't protest and once again Root wondered if there was more to what happened than what Gen had told her. Now wasn't the time to question her on it, however and instead Root drove them home.

*

Root didn't know why she expected Shaw to be there when they got home. Futile wishful thinking, strange for someone who supposedly didn't want Shaw there in the first place. But faced with the empty couch and quiet house, Root felt an ache in her chest, a roiling nervous flutter in her gut. She was glad when Gen went up to her room after getting herself a fresh pack of frozen vegetables from the freezer, was worried that Gen would take one look at her and _know_. Root couldn’t face the sympathy. She couldn’t face any of it.

She wanted a drink.

The need, so strong and potent, durable like hard metal. It wouldn't go away. She didn’t _want_ it to go away. She wanted to give in and make it all stop, forget the pain and the anger and the never ending sense that she was falling, the ground rushing up to meet her, so ready to shatter and destroy everything. She wanted oblivion and nothingness, the endless dark that would meet them all eventually. No one could run from it. Not even her. Not Samantha Groves and certainly not Root.

She couldn’t remember coming into the kitchen, yet here she was, at the table with a bottle of vodka sitting in front of her. Hands shaking and nausea stirring in her gut. If she drank, just one little sip, then she could make it all go away.

So what was stopping her?

Gen upstairs, likely to come down at any moment and find her? Shaw wasn't here to act as a buffer, not this time. She couldn’t let Gen see her like this. She wouldn't let Gen be like Sam, coming home to find Irene lying in a puddle of her own vomit.

She should just pour it down the sink and be done with it. Except she wasn't strong enough. Any strength she used to possess was gone, given to the streets of Bishop, to Jason as she willed herself to keep going until she found him.

Sometimes she thought the strength left her as the blood left Daizo's body, as he turned pale and cold in her arms.

Maybe she never had any at all.

Perhaps the strength, like Root, was merely an illusion. Perhaps she was still little Sam Groves after all.

The bottle was in her hand, the cap off. She couldn't remember reaching for it, holding it to her lips. Just a slight tilt and she would feel the burn on her tongue, down her throat.

Noise from the living room stilled her hand. Root put the bottle on the table quickly, expecting Gen to barge in on her at any moment. But the kitchen remained still and quiet and eventually curiosity won out, the vodka remained intact and Root followed the sounds into the living room.

She hadn't heard the front door open, couldn't be sure how long Shaw had been back. She was next to the couch, the large duffel bag she had arrived in Bishop with in front of her as she packed it hastily.

Root felt the ground rush up to meet her, her bones shattering and the air leave her lungs.

"You're leaving?"

Shaw stilled, for barely a second, before she shoved the tank top she was holding into the bag. That was answer enough.

"What happened to not letting me push you away?"

There was a finality to the way Shaw zipped the bag closed. She sighed, closing her eyes briefly and not looking at Root. "I'm not giving up on you, but it's obvious that you need some space."

"Where will you go?" Root asked. She had visions of Shaw on a plane on her way back to New York and had to clench her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

"There's a motel just outside of town," said Shaw. She still wouldn't look at Root and Root wanted to scream at her until they were fighting again because at least then she would know what to do. "I'll only be five minutes away if Gen needs me."

_What if I need you?_

"Shaw-"

"I should go say goodbye to her," said Shaw, stepping past Root. So close and yet always just out of reach.

But this was on Root. This is what she had wanted, right? To push Shaw away? She never wanted Shaw in Bishop in the first place, sleeping on her couch, interfering in her life.

So why did the thought of Shaw leaving hurt so much; tear out her insides and leave them in shreds?

Root rested her hand on the duffel bag, rough beneath her palm as she tried to find some semblance of balance. She wondered what Shaw had packed in there to make it so full. She was never one for excess belongings, only what was needed and practical. Clothes and guns and not much else, Root thought. Everything Shaw owned. Root wondered if that medal was in there too, the Order of Lenin that belonged to Gen which Shaw had snuck back to her old place to retrieve before going on the run from Samaritan. It was the only sentimental thing Shaw owned.

Heavy footsteps rang down the stairs and Root quickly snatched her hand back. She couldn't make out the look on Shaw’s face; something dark and hard as her jaw clenched tightly. The look concerned Root more than the gun in Shaw’s hand and all she could do was frown as Shaw pulled the clip out to check it before slipping it back into place.

"What are you doing?" asked Root.

The gun disappeared into the waistband of Shaw’s pants. She quickly pulled on her jacket and for a moment Root thought she wasn’t going to get an answer as she watched Shaw head for the door.

"Gen's gone."


	34. Part 3: Chapter 34

It was dark in the town of Bishop, TX.

That shouldn't have mattered, really, but there was something about this place that was almost sinister after the sun went down.

It was a ridiculous thought and one Shaw knew she shouldn't be having. She _wouldn’t_ have at any other time; but right now, with Gen out there alone, sinister felt just about right.

She didn’t think Gen was in any real danger, but there were things about this town she couldn’t even begin to imagine. Things Root had hinted at but Shaw hadn’t wanted to believe. A lot of it might just be in Root’s head, but Shaw could feel the darkness that clouded this place, hung heavily from the residents of Bishop as they struggled on with their lives. It clawed at Root until she was someone unrecognisable in Shaw’s eyes and even Gen was becoming infected by it.

“Aren’t you going to yell at me? Get mad… something?”

Shaw stiffened. Root was trailing about three steps behind, following Shaw as she made her way across town. She couldn’t be sure when, exactly, Gen had made her grand escape, but she thought they had better chances of finding her on foot, walking through the dark streets of Bishop and cutting through the park that Shaw knew from her excessive scoping of the town was the quickest way to the Grayson’s house.

“I should have been watching her,” Root continued.

Shaw could hear the panic in her voice, the blame. She sighed, forcing her feet to stop and closing her eyes. Bishop was far too quiet. Shaw hated it. She took a deep breath and turned around to face Root, thought she was remarkably calm, considering the circumstances, and wondered where she had managed to summon it from.

“Look,” said Shaw, she sounded impatient, but maybe that’s what Root needed to hear right now anyway. “This is Gen we’re talking about; you could put a high security fence around the place and bars on the window and she’d still find a way out.”

Under normal circumstances, Shaw might have even been impressed. Right now, she was too concerned about finding Gen in one piece to be anything other than annoyed.

“So let’s just focus on finding her and argue about it later,” Shaw continued.

Root stared at her for a moment, like she expected Shaw to suddenly take her words back. When Shaw didn’t, when she waited Root out with more patience than she thought she had to give, Root finally took the few steps needed until they were standing next to each other.

“How?” said Root. “How do we find her?”

Shaw frowned. Wasn’t this the part where the Machine told Root exactly what to do? Had their relationship gotten so bad that even when Gen was missing the Machine kept Her silence?

But, then again, Root was trying so hard to push her away, Shaw wouldn’t be surprised if she were doing the exact same with the Machine.

“We’ll try her friend Meg first and then… I don’t know,” said Shaw. “We’ll find her. There’s only so many places she could go.”

“So… you don’t… you don’t think the Russians…” Root said, biting her lip nervously.

“No,” said Shaw. If Volkov had found them, then Shaw was sure the Machine would definitely not be keeping quiet. “Root, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s just…”

_Being a brat._

No, that wasn’t fair. But Shaw couldn’t get the vision of Gen’s red and swollen eye out of her head, the principal who had been so sure that Gen had started the fight for no reason. And then, the brief glimpse Shaw had caught of Gen’s face after her argument with Root outside the school.

This was about them.

And the stupid argument they’d had because Shaw failed to keep her temper in check.

“Let’s just go get her back,” said Shaw.

They walked in silence, Root by her side this time and it was surprisingly less awkward than Shaw had been anticipating. She could feel the tension radiating off Root and knew that there was no way in hell she would ever be able to forgive herself if something happened to Gen. Shaw sped up her pace, walking through the streets of Bishop with confidence, like she had lived here and walked them her entire life.

Seeing the Grayson’s street for a second time, Shaw thought the place looked even more terrible. She marched over to the Grayson’s front door, Root close behind and knocked loudly on the wood. She wondered how often people visited this place and if Grayson knew it was them before he had even opened the door. He didn't seem to recognise them when he did. Eyes bloodshot and breath stinking of cheap whisky, it was easy for Shaw to push past him and into the house.

It was smaller than it appeared from the outside. A living room with one of the walls designated as a kitchen with only a refrigerator, a couple of counters and an electric cooker that looked like it had seen better days. Two other doors faced the opposite wall. One stood ajar and Shaw caught the glimpse of a bathroom she had absolutely no desire to go investigate. The other she presumed led to a bedroom. Meg's probably. It looked like Cody himself slept on the couch.

"You can't just come barging into my house," Cody exclaimed.

"Is she here?" said Shaw calmly. She took out her gun, holding it loosely by her side. Even without it pointed at him, Cody's good eye widened. For the briefest of moments he looked terrified, until his face hardened and he scowled.

"I don't know where that brat kid of yours is," said Cody. He smirked maliciously. "I'm not surprised she ran away though."

He was looking at Root, mocking her with his working eye. Shaw could feel Root tense beside her, feel the air twist with some unspoken conversation between her and Grayson.

"Dad?"

Shaw quickly hid her gun out of sight.

Meg stood in the doorway of the bedroom, the light from within casting her red hair in a fiery shadow. "What's going on?" she asked, staring between her dad and the two women.

"Hey, Meg," said Root, moving towards her and looking a little relieved to be away from Cody. "We're looking for Gen, do you know where she is?"

"She's not here," Meg said quickly.

"I know," said Root, "but do you know where she might have gone? Did she call you or text you?"

Meg shook her head, briefly glanced towards her father. Shaw stared at him hard until he shrugged.

"That phone was a waste of money we don't have," he said loudly. Meg ducked her head and Shaw got the feeling they'd had this conversation before. It wouldn't surprise Shaw if he'd sold the damn thing to buy himself more drink.

"Look," said Cody and he seemed to have gained more confidence now in front of his daughter. Or maybe it was because Shaw's gun was out of sight. "She ain't here so get the hell out of my house."

Root ignored him and knelt down in front of Meg, gripping her elbow gently. "Meg, please. It's important that we find her."

"Leave her alone," Cody growled, taking a step towards them. He reached out to pull Root away from his daughter, but she was on her feet, out of reach faster than his drunken reflexes could keep up with.

"Don't touch me," Root hissed. The flash of anger across her face wasn’t new, but the ruthlessness was like seeing an old friend for the first time in decades.

"Get out," said Cody. Now he didn't sound nearly as confident, looking at Root like she was a grenade waiting to go off in his face.

"She's probably at the library," Meg piped up. Her voice sounded small and shy in the face of the adult's anger but Shaw couldn’t be sure she didn’t sound like that all the time anyway. "She likes it there."

The change in the room was palpable. Both Root and Cody exchanged a look, one too quick for Shaw to interpret. Root gave Cody one last hard look before muttering thank you to Meg and moving to stand beside Shaw at the front door.

Shaw hesitated before leaving, glancing between father and daughter. "You okay here?" she asked Meg. She didn’t like the way Meg almost cowered standing next to her father. Meg glanced at him briefly before nodding vigorously and Shaw wondered if the answer would have been different if he hadn't been there.

Now that they knew where Gen was, Shaw cursed herself for not bringing the car as they headed back on foot towards the centre of town.

" _Now_ are you going to tell me what the deal is between you and that guy?"

She wasn't expecting the smirk on Root’s face; brief and small before it was gone.

"I went to school with him," said Root.

"Is that all?" said Shaw sceptically as she watched Root carefully.

Root shrugged. "And I may have... tased him a little at the Razorback last week."

Shaw grinned. "He deserve it?"

"Of course," said Root. "The asshole hits his kid."

Shaw stopped walking and frowned. She glanced back at the Grayson's, the house looking menacing in the dark. "Shouldn’t we-"

"It's okay," said Root. "I made it very clear what would happen if he touched her again. And the Machine will tell me if he does."

Shaw still wasn't convinced, but carried on walking when Root did all the same.

“What?” said Root after a few minutes and Shaw realised she still had the grin on her face.

She shrugged. “Nothing. Just… I would have paid money to see you take that asshat down a notch or two.”

Root smirked. “It was kinda fun.”

There was something about the ease with which the words left Root’s mouth, how light they were, that almost fooled Shaw into believing they were okay. She knew it wasn’t real, that the old Root was still lost and far away somewhere buried beneath the layers this new version of Root had to create to protect herself. But she had to believe. For just a second Sameen Shaw needed that hope. A glimpse at the Root that had brought her here, who had been in the back of her mind all this time since Root had walked out on her to go hunt down Jason well over a year ago now.

It was the Root that she was fighting for. The Root she wasn’t sure she would ever get back. But she would die trying if she had to.

Root led the way to the library with more confidence that she’d had when they had set out to the Grayson’s. Now that she knew where Gen was, the tension had left her shoulders. It wasn’t until they reached the building itself and Root froze that Shaw realised she had just been relieved that Gen wasn’t in any danger from Cody Grayson. Root had a whole set of new fears when it came to Bishop Library.

“It’s just a building, Root,” said Shaw and thought it was a stupid thing to say. Root _knew_ that, but it wouldn’t stop her fears, irrational as the may be, her memories, from overwhelming her.

Root said nothing, staring up at the dark building that looked unimpressive from the outside.

“I’ll go get her,” Shaw muttered, stepping past Root and towards the front the library.

Root didn’t follow.

The front door was locked, but when she walked around the side of the building she found a side door sitting slightly ajar. It didn’t look like anyone had tampered with it, merely as if someone had left for the night and forgot to lock it. Gen was getting better at the lock picking, Shaw noted wryly and was starting to regret ever teaching her it.

There weren’t any lights on inside, which made it easy for Shaw to spot the faint glow at the back of the library. She weaved her way through the stacks, moving towards the light and found Gen sitting against a bookshelf, surrounded by books on one side and her school backpack on the other. On the floor next to her knee sat her phone, the light from the camera struggling to fight against the looming darkness as night fell across Bishop.

Shaw lifted the backpack out of the way and took a seat next to Gen on the floor.

“What you doing, kiddo?”

“Homework,” said Gen as if she were stupid. She stared at the notebook on her lap, gripping the edges of it tighter. “Took you long enough to find me.”

She sounded disappointed.

“Well that’s what happens when you sneak out of the house and don’t tell us where you’re going,” said Shaw.

“Is this the part where you yell at me for being irresponsible?” said Gen. She kept her gaze on her homework, but Shaw didn’t think she was really looking at it.

“No,” said Shaw. “This is the part where I ask if you’re okay.”

Although the swelling had gone down on her eye, the flesh surrounding it was still a nasty shade of red. It would darken into a bruise before long and no doubt be tender to the touch for days.

“I’m fine,” said Gen. “I’m just… I’m tired of you guys fighting because of me.”

“It wasn’t because of you,” said Shaw, leaning her head back against the book shelves. The cool metal dug into the back of her head and she felt the pressure pounce to her temples, an oncoming headache of the like that tried to split your head in two.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” said Gen.

Shaw closed her eyes. It wasn’t like she could really lie about it. She exhaled loudly, a heavy sigh that pulled the air out of her lungs. She felt light headed and tired and would give anything for a solid eight hours sleep. Something she hadn’t had in a long time. Not with that damn couch causing her back to bend in ways it was never supposed to. Even before Bishop she hadn’t been sleeping well.

She doubted the motel outside of town would afford her the luxury either.

“I’ll only be five minutes away,” Shaw promised.

“It’s not the same and you know it,” said Gen. She was scowling down at her lap, face scrunched up in that way Shaw had come to learn was Gen trying desperately not to cry.

“Gen,” said Shaw tiredly. “It’s not that easy. I can’t -”

“Yes you can.”

Freezing at the sound of this new voice, Shaw could only stare into the shadows of the library, mouth hanging open. It was a few seconds before Root stepped forward, pushing away the pile of books on the floor next to Gen with her foot. She sat on Gen’s other side, seemingly oblivious to both Shaw’s – and Gen’s – surprise that she was there and brushed some of the hair out of Gen’s face to look at her injured eye.

“What?” said Shaw cautiously, not wanting to assume what she hoped Root had meant. It didn’t seem likely, not after everything that had been spoken between them today.

“You should stay,” said Root firmly. She wasn’t even looking at Shaw, her attention focused determinedly on Gen.

“What are _you_ doing in here?” said Gen.

Root glanced around the library, dark and shadowy in the dim glow of Gen’s cell phone light. It was like she was seeing the place for the first time, only _just_ realising where she was.

“It’s just a building, kiddo,” said Root. She smiled briefly at Shaw and she couldn’t tell if this echo of her own words was just Root’s way of reassuring Gen or if she really had let go of that flash of apprehension Shaw had seen outside.

“Root…” said Shaw.

“I know the couch isn’t exactly ideal,” said Root, “but I imagine its more appealing than what the motels around here a like.”

“Okay,” said Shaw slowly, half expecting Root to suddenly change her mind, yell at her like she had done outside of Gen’s school; the truth honest and raw as it came out of her mouth. _I don’t want you here._

“Really?” said Gen, looking just as unsure about Root’s sudden whirlwind change of mind as Shaw felt.

“Really,” said Root.

Gen grinned and Shaw braced herself for the inevitable hug, but it never came. Not even Root got one and Shaw wondered when Gen had grown out of that sort of thing and why she felt so disappointed by it.

“Let’s go home,” said Root, meeting Shaw’s eyes over the top of Gen’s head. The expression on her face was hard to read and Shaw wasn’t so sure this turn of events was all what it seemed.

“Okay, lemme just put these books back,” said Gen. She climbed to her feet and picked up the pile of books from the floor. Taking her phone with her, she disappeared through the stacks to find their homes on the many shelves, leaving Root and Shaw plunged in darkness, illuminated only by the weak street lights through the small square windows over to their left.

“Are you sure about this?” Shaw asked. Alone, in the dark, she thought she might get the truth out of Root.

Not that she was sure she even wanted it.

Why was she pushing? Why wasn’t she just accepting this win? Root was giving her a way to stay in both her and Gen’s lives, so why the hell was Shaw risking everything by questioning her on it?

But instead of answering her question, Root only stared ahead of her. Looking at the library, perhaps not as it was now, but as it had been back then.

“I haven’t been here since…” Root bit her lip and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she seemed to have found her voice, clearer this time, no longer weighed down by the past she couldn’t change. “I used to think this place… but it’s just bricks. This whole town… none of it means anything. I should have learned that a long time ago.”

Shaw got the sense there was more Root wanted to say, but she felt like an outsider, a hidden observer sneaking about in the shadows. This private moment wasn't meant for her. She tried not to read too much into it. Root wasn't opening up to her. It was the walls, the shelves of books and the ghosts from long ago that she was talking to. Shaw just happened to be here at the same time.

But, Shaw found, she wanted Root to keep going, to talk about all the secrets of her past. She wanted to know every part of Root, no matter how cold and harsh a reality that may be. But Root said nothing more, lost to the memory of her past, staring at nothing until bobbing light signalling Gen’s return snapped her out of it and they snuck back out of the library like this was a normal excursion on a warm Bishop evening.

Their search for Gen had taken up most of the evening. It had already been close to dark when they had set out, but now it was dark enough to see the stars in the sky, blinking down on Bishop. Shaw stared up at them for a moment, letting Root and Gen walk on ahead. Stargazing had never been her thing. Her Dad had pointed Venus out to her once, shining brighter than the rest. Her mother had laughed at him and said it was a satellite and Sameen had refused to believe her, staring at the star until it became too cold to stand outside in the dead of night.

They looked the exact same in Bishop. Or maybe it had just been so long that Shaw couldn’t tell the difference anymore. She couldn’t spot Venus though. Maybe her mom had been right after all.

After making Shaw reassure her one last time that she wasn’t leaving, Gen went straight up to her room and to bed as soon as they got back to the house. Shaw saw her glance at the duffel bag Shaw had packed earlier still sitting on the couch, ready to go and never come back. It wasn’t until Shaw took her jacket off and tossed it over the back of the couch that she carried on moving up the stairs.

It wasn’t much, this room. Shaw didn’t mind; she was never one to decorate or have a particular style; the basics were all she ever needed. When she worked for the ISA, moving around so much and never in one place for very long, she hadn’t bothered with trying to keep anything of value. Not even when she started working for Finch.

The only thing she had ever kept was that damn medal. She wasn’t even sure why. She hadn’t even kept her father’s medals. Left them behind with all the other crap her mother had collected over the years. She didn’t even know what had happened to it after her mother had died. Some weird sense of loyalty - no, _obligation_ \- had made her keep Gen’s medal, go back for it when Samaritan was hunting them all even though her apartment was most definitely the first place they would have looked.

Even now she had it with her. It sat heavily in the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Shaw could feel it through the material, press it between her fingers. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to symbolise, but it was supposed to symbolise _something_.

Something she had been avoiding most of her life because she thought it didn’t matter. She was different. She had accepted that a long time ago. And even though sometimes - only sometimes and never for very long - she caught a glimpse of what it could be like for everyone else, she forced herself to ignore it. To bury it away until it was forgotten.

It was easier that way, she told herself. It took losing a kidney and almost dying for her to realise the lie that it was.

Nothing was ever easier.

Thinking she had gone up to bed too, Shaw was surprised to find Root standing in the middle of the kitchen in the dark. She turned on the light, watching Root carefully and frowning when she didn’t even flinch under the startlingly bright fluorescents. She was too busy staring at the table. Or, rather, what was sitting on top of it. Shaw followed her gaze and her frown turned into a scowl at the sight of the open vodka bottle, the cap off and nowhere in sight.

“You don’t have to do this,” said Shaw. Her voice sounded too loud in the stillness of the kitchen. She wished she hadn’t spoken at all.

“Yes I do,” said Root without looking at her. “It’s what’s best for Gen and right now…” She turned to face Shaw, a small self-deprecating smile on her face and the bottle cap moving between her fingers as she stared at it. “That’s all that I have left.”

 _That isn’t true_ , Shaw wanted to say and knew Root wouldn’t listen.

“I keep screwing everything up,” said Root, clenching her jaw hard.

 _So do I_.

That’s what they did. When it came to this, to _them_ , one of them always, inevitably, screwed it up.

But Shaw refused to let that happen again. They could make it work, she knew they could. It would be hard, she wasn’t delusional about that. She could only give so much and yet she would try. Because Root was right. There wasn’t anything else. _This_ was all they had left.

“I won’t let you,” said Shaw. She didn’t know how, but they had always worked better with each other than against. One hell of a team and a scary one at that.

“How?” said Root.

It was hard for Shaw to listen to the doubt in her voice, even though she couldn’t really blame her for it. How many times had she let Root down? It seemed like that was all she ever did.

“By starting with that,” said Shaw. She nodded towards the vodka bottle and Root stared at it as if she were seeing it for the first time. She let out a breath, closing her eyes and Shaw thought she was about to hear excuses about how it wasn’t a problem, that Root had it under control.

Instead, Root stepped forward, snatched up the bottle and poured its contents down the sink with an ice cold determination.

It wasn’t an instant fix and they both knew it, but it was a start.

“Anyway,” said Shaw after a few moments of silence as they both stared at the empty bottle on the counter. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

Root nodded, hugging her arms tight to herself as she headed out of the kitchen.

The groceries Shaw had bought that day – which now felt like a lifetime ago – were still in bags on the floor, waiting to be put away. She had only managed the perishables before Gen had come home with her black eye.

They had all skipped dinner, Shaw realised, but found she wasn’t all that hungry anyway as she busied herself putting the stuff away. She didn’t know where most of it belonged, but the cupboards were that bare she supposed it didn’t really matter anyway.

“Shaw?”

She stilled, not realising Root was still there, the packet of rice feeling heavy in her hand.

“Did you want this somewhere specific?” Shaw asked. Root was giving her an odd look. One that made Shaw a little uncomfortable.

“No,” said Root barely sparing the rice a glance. “Put it anywhere you like. I just… thank you.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“For not giving up on me,” said Root. She only met Shaw’s eyes for a second, but it was enough for Shaw to know that coming here was the right thing to do, even if it hadn’t seemed like it at the time.

Shaw smiled, feeling that surge of hope again that she though had been extinguished completely after their argument outside of Gen’s school.

“Anytime,” said Shaw, saying it like a promise.


	35. Part 3: Chapter 35

“Ms Shaw?” said Finch. “Two calls in as many weeks; I’m going to start to think you miss me.”

Harold chuckled to himself and Shaw rolled her eyes, stepping forward a little to get out of the shade cast by the house. The sun wasn’t as bright at this time in the morning but it was still warm enough on her bare shoulders. She was still in the tank top and sweat pants she had worn to bed; Gen had been in the bathroom for at least an hour now and Shaw was starting to get bored. At least she’d had the foresight to slip her boots on before heading out into the back yard. The grass, covered in dew, was far too long, coming up just past Shaw’s ankles. She doubted Root had a lawn mower or even knew how to use one. Maybe they could hire a gardener or something. Although Shaw wasn’t too sure how Root would react to the suggestion.

“I’m just checking in, Finch.”

“I see,” said Finch, sounding suspicious. “Well everything is as it was when we last spoke.”

_On your end maybe,_ Shaw thought bitterly. Her back might be aching less despite still sleeping on the couch, she might be on speaking terms with Root again and Gen promised not to take off without telling them again anytime soon, but Shaw still didn’t like it here.

“Did something happen?” asked Finch. “Anything I should know about?”

“Not exactly.” Shaw sighed. Then she wondered why she was keeping it from him. If she wanted things to move along a little faster, then she should be telling him like it was. “Gen got into a fight at school.”

“Is she alright?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Shaw. Although she wasn’t sure about that. Kids got into fights all the time, right? Running away and hiding in a library for most of the night was normal too, wasn’t it? Shaw shook her head. “Any chance you could speed this along, Finch?”

“You already know my feelings on the matter, Ms Shaw,” he said. “You’ll just have to be patient. It is a virtue, is it not?”

Virtue or not, Shaw’s patience was stretched a little thin these days.

A bird landed on the fence at the bottom end of the yard and Shaw watched it for a moment as it stared at her, as if it were assessing whether or not she was a threat.

“Regardless,” Finch continued, “I’m sure you remaining there for the time being can only be a good thing. And you never know, perhaps you’ll get something out of it too.”

Shaw narrowed her eyes. The bird squawked at her and flew off, leaving her alone in the yard with nothing but the insects buzzing at her feet. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Finch. “But you might be pleasantly surprised.”

He hung up, leaving Shaw glaring at her phone in confusion and wondering if he was being cryptic on purpose so she wouldn’t ask about the Volkov investigation. Which told her everything she needed to know about it anyway.

With the grass trimmed and the flower beds tidied up a bit, Shaw imagined this place might be nice to sit in and think. Peace away from the too quiet town of Bishop. It had been a long time since Shaw had a garden. Not since she had moved out of her mother’s house to go to med school. She’d spent most of her time in dorm rooms and one bedroom apartments after that.

Her mother had always taken so much pride in her garden. Shaw recalled the diversity of plants of all shapes and sizes, all the different colours of flowers arranged in neat little rows. Out in the garden, tending to her plants was the only time that Shaw could remember her mother looking peaceful after her father had died.

Shaw didn’t think she herself would find such peace out here. The only time she had ever felt peace was with a gun in her hand and a terrorist in her sights.

Well, maybe not _only_ that.

There had been times, during her residency, with a scalpel in her hand and nothing but the blood rushing in her ears and the sound of a heart monitor beeping steadily that she felt truly content, knowing she was doing good, making the right choices. Except it hadn’t worked out. Fixing people wasn’t her thing. Killing them - well the bad ones, at least - _that_ was what she was best at.

Until she made a mistake. Killed the wrong guy and ended up with the entire Russian Mafia after her and everyone she cared about. Now she wasn’t so sure what she was good at. Maybe she didn’t have anything anymore. Nothing left but the choices she made. She could only hope to make the next one a good one.

Shaw slipped back into the house, expecting to find the kitchen as empty as she had left it. She was surprised to see Root up so early. Even more surprised that Gen was finally out of the shower.

“Ow,” Gen whined. Her face was squashed in between Root’s hands as she gently applied foundation around Gen’s bruised eye.

“Stop squirming,” Root scolded. “I’m almost done.”

Pouring herself a coffee, Shaw watched as Root added a few finishing touches. Shaw had never seen Gen wearing make-up before, now that she thought about it. It just wasn’t something she had ever been interested in. It added hard lines onto her face that made her look older than she was. As if she hadn’t already had to grow up too quickly.

Shaw wasn’t sure she liked it.

It wasn’t until she came to Bishop that Shaw saw how much Gen had changed. Gone was the over-enthusiastic kid fishing for information. Although, don’t get her wrong, Shaw was still convinced Gen was nosier than the most busybody of Bishop residents. There was just something different about how she did it now, like the good intentions of youth had disappeared and now there was a malicious way to how she hunted and gathered information, like she was stockpiling it to use as a weapon for later.

Was this how all teenagers acted? Shaw couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t really been around them much since being one herself. And even then, she had kept to herself, isolated from her peers.

“There. Done,” said Root, releasing Gen and placing the makeup on the kitchen table. She held up a compact mirror for Gen to inspect her work and Shaw sipped at her coffee, watching as Gen turned her head left and right, raising her eyebrow and blinking her eye to see what affect it had.

“I guess it’s okay,” said Gen. “But you can still see it a little.”

“Well it’s not like the whole school isn’t going to know about it by now anyway,” said Root reasonably.

Gen scowled, picking up her backpack and the lunch Shaw had made for her while Gen was hogging the shower.

“Great,” she muttered, slipping the bag across her shoulders.

“And don’t forget you have detention,” said Root. A hint of a smile played at her lips and Gen narrowed her eyes.

“Also, if you get into another fight,” Shaw piped up around her mug of coffee, “try to remember to duck.”

Gen’s scowl deepened into a glower. “I’m glad you guys are enjoying my misery.”

“We’re not,” said Root.

_Speak for yourself_ , Shaw thought. Enjoying might not be the right word, but if Gen was going to be stupid enough to get into a fight and lose, she deserved a little teasing.

“How about trying _not_ to get into another fight,” Root continued. “Or it will be worse than detention next time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gen muttered, tightening her grip on her backpack straps as she reluctantly walked out the door.

Root watched her, staring at the spot where she had disappeared long after she was gone. And Shaw watched Root, noting the worry moistening her eyes, the way her teeth dug into her bottom lip, turning it white.

“She’ll be okay,” Shaw said quietly. Thinking about her altercation with Gen’s principal yesterday, the reassurance was more for herself. There had been something off about the woman. Something Shaw couldn’t quite place. It wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest if Gen ended up suffering because of Shaw’s actions yesterday.

“Yeah,” said Root, although she didn’t sound convinced. She glanced away from the door, eyes landing on Shaw and narrowing as if only just noticing her for the first time. As if she was starting to doubt having Shaw here.

“Look, um...if you’re…”

“If I’m what?” said Root. She picked up the pile of mail from the counter behind her, pointedly ignoring meeting Shaw’s gaze as she flicked through it.

Shaw sighed. “If you’ve changed your mind… If you want me gone-”

“I haven’t,” said Root, hands stilling and yet she still didn’t look at Shaw. “But I’m not going to lie and say it won’t be hard, you being here. I’m still…”

_Still what?_ Shaw wanted to ask. But she didn’t and she never found out what Root was going to say, what she was thinking and why it was so hard for her to have Shaw here. But Shaw’s mind tried to fill in the blanks. Because she still cared too much? Because she didn’t at all and Shaw was just a painful reminder of where it had all gone wrong?

Root blinked a couple of times, opening the letter on the top of the pile in her hands. The lines on her forehead deepened into a frown.

“Everything okay?” Shaw asked. Her coffee had gone cold, but she kept drinking it, grimacing at each sip.

“It’s fine,” said Root. “Just bills.”

“Oh right,” said Shaw. She hadn’t thought about stuff like that. Bills, groceries, Gen going to school, doing homework, Root’s so called job working from home… all these normal, everyday things. Even the backyard that Shaw was already contemplating tending to. That’s what their lives in Bishop were now.

Normal.

“Look, I…” Shaw began hesitantly, not exactly sure how well this would go down with Root. Things between them were still on thin ice and Shaw didn’t want to push too far in case this was the thing that made Root crack again. “Since I’ll be staying here… I should help out. With the bills and stuff.”

Root looked at her for a moment, considering. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Shaw’s stomach flipped. _Too much coffee_ , she decided and put her mug of cold coffee in the sink. She stared at the blue and white striped pattern for a moment, the bitterly dark liquid inside that rippled every time water dripped from the leaking faucet and wished she had gone for a shower instead of opening her mouth at all.

“Sameen Shaw can hardly walk into a bank in Corpus Christi and access her account,” Root continued. Shaw frowned. “Aren’t you number one on the Bratva’s shit list? They’ll be checking your accounts.”

“I guess,” said Shaw. She already knew this, had been careful in her plans for coming out to Texas so the Russian’s wouldn’t be able to track her. But with three mouths to feed and bills to pay... Shaw wasn’t sure how long they could keep this up.

Root reached the bottom of the pile of mail and was staring at the last letter with her eyebrows raised. “Sameen _Grey_ , however…”

With a frown, Shaw snatched the envelope Root reached out to her. It was large, A4 in size and backed with cardboard to help prevent whatever was inside from bending.

Shaw had no idea what to expect. Getting mail sent to her in Bishop alone was surprising. But she remembered Harold's words, about how she might get something out of this mess. She thought he had meant her and Root; but as she tore open the envelope, Shaw wondered if Harold and his Machine were conspiring about something else.

She knew, even before she finished opening the envelope, what it was. What else could it be? Her instincts had always been good. Too good. And as she stared at the thin rectangle of card in her hand, the memory of everything she had spent years of her life working towards came rushing back.

"What the hell is your Machine playing at?" Anger was clear and sharp in Shaw's voice. She could feel it rushing through her veins and knew her hands would be shaking from it as she itched to punch something if she weren't holding the State of Texas Physician’s Licence so hard.

Because it wasn't how she had got there that she was thinking about. Those endlessly long hours with her head buried in a textbook, the ridiculously long shifts that left her so drained she couldn’t think, the patients coming and going, the ones she managed to save and the ones she couldn’t.

No, she wasn’t thinking about any of that.

She was thinking about that day. The last time she had ever stepped foot in an ER when it wasn’t to get her own injuries attended to. There was no way she or anyone else could have predicted just how wrong one case of simple pneumonia could go so wrong.

But her chief resident had never liked her and she hadn't liked him. Right from the start he had been out to get her and Doctor Sameen Shaw had been too arrogant, too determined, to take him seriously.

Root stepped closer to read over Shaw’s shoulder. "I guess she wants you to contribute."

"Contribute?" said Shaw incredulously. Root wasn't paying her any attention. She was listening carefully to the Machine and after a moment she walked to the kitchen table and lifted up yesterday's local newspaper, flicking through it before finding the page she was looking for and handing it over to Shaw.

Shaw hid the medical licence underneath so she didn’t have to look at it and glared down at the wanted ads.

_Bishop Medical Practice_ stood out at the top in bold lettering that was hard to miss.

_Full time medical practitioner needed immediately_ , Shaw read, _applications available by dropping into our practice on East Main Street or calling Dr D. Madison on..._

"The Machine can't be serious," said Shaw, looking at Root and searching for a sign that this was all just a misunderstanding. Root shrugged. "Would you rather work in a bar again?"

"Root, I haven't practiced medicine in years. How am I supposed to..."

"Yes you have," said Root. "How many injuries have you treated since working for Harold alone?"

"It's not the same and you know it," said Shaw.

Root shook her head. "You're good at it, Sameen. Whether you want to believe it or not."

Shaw stared back down at the wanted ads, refusing to believe what she was saying.

"You saved my life," Root continued. “You refused to let me die. So for whatever reasons you think you stopped practicing medicine for... they're wrong."

Shaw sighed, closing her eyes and struggling against the image of Root, lying on a gurney with a bullet in her leg and her heart no longer beating.

Technically, Root had died that day. Her heart stopped beating and only because Shaw refused to allow Root’s declaration in the car to be the last thing she ever heard her speak, Shaw hadn't given up until Root’s heart started beating again.

"I doubt I'm going to be treating that many bullet wounds in Bishop," Shaw muttered eventually.

"Probably not," Root agreed. "But your other option is serving Cody Grayson drinks every night. I mean, it's not like many of your wide range of skills can be applied to small town life."

"You're right," said Shaw. Root looked at her, eyes widening because they were agreeing on something for once. "I really don't want to see that asshat every night."

Root smirked and went back to looking through the rest of the mail.

But even though she could joke about it, Shaw still wasn't sure this was the right thing to do. Root had said her reasons for quitting medicine, whatever they were, were wrong. Except that wasn't true. She was good at the mechanics of it: diagnosing and treating. But her chief resident had been right all those years ago. It didn’t matter how brilliant and technically minded she was, she was still missing _something_. The one thing that kept her from being a great doctor and not just a good one.

And general practice? Shaw knew exactly what that would entail. It was a whole different game to working in the ER where patients would come and go quickly. She'd be stuck with the same ones, living in the same town as them. Shaw almost shuddered at the thought.

"Trust the Machine, Sameen," said Root.

"Thought you two weren't really talking."

"We're not. But I still trust her. She'll have her reasons for this."

Well whatever they were, Shaw couldn’t see them. She glanced at the ad again, memorising the address and number. Her gaze caught the ad underneath and she grinned, handing the paper to Root.

"Look at the one underneath." Watching Root carefully, Shaw smirked as her eyes hardened and her lips pressed together in a thin a line. "I think the Machine wants you to contribute too."

Root scowled at the paper in her hands, at Shaw and finally up at the ceiling as if the Machine were looking down on them. She may not be watching them right now but she was most definitely listening.

"Are you serious?" said Root. She listened for a moment, but when the scowl deepened on her face, Shaw knew she hadn't gotten an answer.

"IT technician at Bishop High," said Shaw, a smirk on her face. "Try to remember to set a good example for the kids."

Root glared. "Why would She...I already have a cover."

"Weren't you just telling me to trust her?" said Shaw.

Root shrugged and said nothing more. She fiddled with the edges of the newspaper until they were curling in-between her fingers before she abruptly tossed it on the table and disappeared from the room.

Shaw sighed. She shouldn't have teased; but she had forgotten, for a moment, that things were still strained between them.

Even if Root didn't see it - or at least didn't want to see it - Shaw thought she might understand why the Machine was encouraging this change. Being stuck in Bishop, this whole situation, it sucked. And Root, no matter how determined she had been last night as she poured the vodka down the sink, doing nothing all day, feeling like she didn’t have a purpose... Bishop was eating her alive. Even the Machine could see that. So She was giving Root - giving them both - something to make this place a little more tolerable.

Shaw just hoped this didn't end as badly as Root's last distraction.

*

She would have put it off, if she could. They both would have. But the desire, the challenge in not being the one that chickened out - and Sameen Shaw was definitely no chicken - pushed them both into seeking out potential employment.

Shaw had her doubts about the entire thing as soon as she walked into Bishop Medical Practice and suddenly losing to Root didn't seem like such a big deal anymore.

The clinic was small. Hardly surprising given they were in a small town. There was the reception desk with a small waiting area opposite. Each of the five chairs were currently occupied. Behind the reception desk sat a woman in her forties, her hair bleached blonde and her eyes sharp as she stared at Shaw when she entered.

That was something Shaw was never going to get used to in this town. The staring.

Against the wall behind the reception desk were rows of filing cabinets and on either side a door which Shaw assumed would lead to the exam rooms, perhaps even a storage closet.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked once Shaw had reached the desk. Her voice was polite but her eyes had narrowed considerably.

"I'm here about the job advertised in the Bishop Observer," Shaw said. She could feel the eyes of the five waiting patients on her and wanted to turn and glare at them all. Who cared about maintaining a normal pretence around here? These people could do with being put in their place.

Using all her willpower and biting her lip so she wouldn't say what was really on her mind, Shaw stared at the receptionist with more patience than she had.

"You're a doctor?"

"Yes," said Shaw tightly. It felt like a lie. It was a lie. She hadn't been a doctor in years. This was a stupid idea and she should never have come here. She was going to leave. Right now. Working at the Razorback had never seemed more appealing.

"I'll get Doctor Madison for you," the receptionist said before Shaw could make her escape. She dialled a number on the phone beside her desk, turning her head slightly as she murmured into it. Shaw glanced away, staring at the walls covered in posters giving more medical advice than Shaw had given in years.

It felt strange. She couldn’t push the thought away. It had been years yet the smell of aseptic was as familiar as home. It didn’t matter that this was only a small clinic, tiny in comparison to the inner city ER she had failed to complete her residency in; they all had the same distinct smell. The kind of smell that put most people off hospitals and doctors. But Shaw loved it. She always had.

The receptionist ended her call and put the phone down. "Doctor Madison can see you right now. Straight down the hall, first door on the right."

She pointed at the door on her left and Shaw had no choice but to go through it. No backing out now. No matter how much she wanted to.

Doctor Madison had to be nearing sixty. Hair more white than grey, his skin crumpled into wrinkles like paper; Shaw thought he would look more at home in a retirement home than an exam room. He greeted her with enthusiasm, shaking her hand vigoursly like she was an old friend.

"You must be Doctor Grey."

"You...were expecting me?" said Shaw hesitantly. She was sure she hadn't given the receptionist any name at all.

"Yes," said Doctor Madison. "We received your application the other day and I must say: what a godsend. I'm rushed off my feet here ever since Billy retired."

"Application?" said Shaw.

_The Machine._

She had this all planned out, didn't she?

"Yep," said Madison. "Even got your references too. Spoke to Doctor Watson this morning myself."

"I see," said Shaw, clenching her jaw so tightly it hurt. It seemed the Machine wasn't even going to give her the chance to back out.

"Anyway this would be your room," said Madison, spreading his arms out wide. Shaw took a glance around and the small exam room. Gurney in one corner, shelves filled with equipment along one wall and then a desk with a computer that had to be at least ten years old on the opposite side.

Madison saw her looking at it and said, "Yeah, we're trying to keep up with the times, but most of our records are still in paper form. Judy's slowly putting them in but I ain’t got no patience for these damn things." He slammed his hand down on the computer monitor and shook his head. "I tell you, it'll be nice to have someone young around here again."

"So... I've got the job then?" Shaw asked.

"It's yours if you want it," said Madison.

_That was quick,_ Shaw thought and really did not like how fast this was all happening.

"Like I said, I'm rushed off my feet taking on Billy’s patients too. It don't seem like much, but we do house calls for some of the folks a little ways out of town. But anything major, they all head to Robstown or up to the city. You can drive, yes?"

"Uh, sure," said Shaw. This guy was starting to give her a headache from talking so fast.

"Great!" said Madison. "I'll get Judy to give you the grand tour. She can show you where everything is, get you settled in."

"Okay, thanks," said Shaw, before she could change her mind. Not that the Machine was giving her much of a choice. But Root said to trust Her, right? And, right now, Shaw was willing to give Root and the Machine the benefit of the doubt.

"So what brings someone like you to Bishop?"

"Someone like me?" said Shaw, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah," said Madison. "General practice is a big change compared to an emergency room."

"Oh," said Shaw. "I guess so."

"You here for family?"

"Something like that."

“Husband?"

"No," said Shaw, scowling.

"Ah," said Madison knowingly. "Wife then?"

"No!" Shaw exclaimed. "We're not...it’s not... it’s complicated."

"Wouldn't be worth it if it wasn't," said Madison. "Bishop's a nice town to settle down in I suppose. Anyway, I gotta get back to work. I'll leave you in Judy's capable hands."

*

Judy spent a good two hours showing Shaw around the clinic. Their equipment was decent for a small practice, but Shaw, having being out of the medical world for so long, had no idea if it was the most recent technology. It was unlikely to matter anyway. When Judy was busy answering phones, Shaw sneaked a look at some of the patient files. Her soon to be patients suffered from nothing more serious than the flu or high blood pressure.

It was going to be a very dull job indeed.

She couldn't help but wonder why she was even doing this. Why _the Machine_ was making her do this. Although, she could walk out of here right now and never come back and no one would stop her. But she believed Root when she said to trust the Machine and even if Shaw couldn't see it right now, she was sure the Machine had Her reasons for this.

Shaw just wished she was better prepared. Madison insisted that she start right away and Judy confessed in hushed tones when he was out of earshot that the old man was getting on a bit. Forgetful and slow and that it wasn't good for the patients. There was something about the way Judy's eyes crinkled when she shared this information that made Shaw instantly dislike her. She could already see that this woman was quick to gossip and wouldn't be surprised if she had the low down on an every single person in Bishop.

In the past, Shaw had carried out many missions where she'd had even fewer time to prepare. This was no different from that. She did think treating it like a mission probably wasn't the best move, but it was the only thing that stopped her from walking away from it far quicker than she had the first time.

She couldn't arm herself with a gun for this mission however. She needed knowledge and a lot of it. At least she had developed a knack for cramming during med school and Shaw ended up spending the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen with Root's laptop in front of her and a legal pad she was jotting notes down on.

Root found her a couple of hours later, scowling at Shaw using her computer.

"What?" said Shaw with a smirk. "You think I didn't pick up some hacking skills from you and Harold over the years?"

Root merely shrugged and asked what she was doing.

"I've been a little out of the medical loop for a while," Shaw confessed. "I'm trying to catch up."

"So you got the job then?"

"I think I had it before I'd even walked in," said Shaw. "What about you?"

Root said nothing for a moment, leaned against the counter opposite Shaw with her arms crossed and her teeth playing with her bottom lip. "I think I had it before I walked in too."

"You don't sound too thrilled," said Shaw. She stared at the computer screen, but the paragraphs of medical jargon blurred before her eyes.

"I'm just...not sure if it's a good idea."

"Why?" Shaw asked. "I thought you trusted the Machine."

"I do," said Root. "I'm just not sure if I want to be spending my time fixing the faculties' computers when they break them or figuring out which of the seniors tried to download porn in the library this time. It just all seems... pointless."

_Kuru disease,_ Shaw read from the laptop screen, _is an epidemic human prion disease transmitted by the practice of consuming dead relatives as a mark of respect and mourning (transumption) in groups of the Eastern Highlands of Papua New Guinea_. Now _that_ was pointless. How many people in Bishop were likely to suffer from Kuru disease? The chances were unlikely if not non-existent.

"It's not pointless," said Shaw after a moment. "It's just another cover."

"Except it's not for me," said Root. She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out what looked like an ID badge. Shaw saw the letters BHS on the back and a logo she couldn't quite make out. "This is my hometown. My life."

She tossed the badge onto the table. It landed with a clatter next to the laptop face up and Shaw glanced at the picture of Root taken that day, eyes facing front like a mugshot. Underneath it said _Samantha Groves, Systems Manager_.

"Root..."

But she didn't know what to say. She never did. And they ended up just staring at each other; Shaw feeling helpless and Root looking lost and neither of them looking away even as the front door slammed shut when Gen came home from school.

"What are you doing?" said Gen, glancing suspiciously between them both.

Shaw finally looked away and seeing the darkening bruise under Gen's eye that not even the makeup could cover snapped her out of her daze.

"Nothing," said Shaw, but Gen had already spotted the ID badge on the table and picked it up.

"What's this?"

"Nothing," said Root and snatched it from her hands.

"You guys got jobs?" said Gen, looking horrified.

"Maybe," said Shaw.

"Why?" Gen asked sullenly. "You guys are supposed to be spies, assassins. You're not supposed to have normal jobs. This is so embarrassing."

With that, Gen stomped out of the kitchen and all the way up the stairs to her bedroom.

"How is us getting jobs embarrassing?" Shaw asked and was pleased to see the smile tugging at Root's lips. Her arms were no longer crossed, the ID badge hung loosely from one hand. She seemed more at ease now although Shaw wasn't fooled. These jobs, as normal as they were, with Root's real name on the pay check...they weren't real. Weren't _them_.

Perhaps Root was right. Maybe it was pointless.

One thing Shaw knew for sure... jobs meant they weren't leaving this shitty town anytime soon.


	36. Part 3: Chapter 36

"...And I said to my Derek, 'you'll be half a cow short at the end of it'."

Betty Gibbs broke into hysterical laughter that caused her body to double over and the blood pressure reading attached to the cuff on her arm to go wild. Shaw waited until she had calmed herself down before readjusting the cuff on her upper arm. This was the fourth attempt twenty minutes into an appointment that should have lasted ten and saying she was getting a little frustrated would be an understatement.

"I need you to hold still, Mrs Gibbs," Shaw said. Mrs Gibbs waved her away with her free hand and carried on talking. Something about a goat and a cactus, Shaw wasn’t really paying much attention.

Finally managing to get a blood pressure reading despite Mrs Gibbs' continued nattering, Shaw made a note in the patient file and loosened the cuff so the old woman could take it off. It was high, hardly surprising given that Mrs Gibbs was overweight and pushing eighty. Shaw asked about her diet and gave her the spiel of eating foods low in salt and fat and recommended regular exercise. She got the impression Betty Gibbs wasn't really paying any attention to her and wrote out a fresh prescription of her beta blockers just in case.

"You're a far better listener than that old duffer who used to work here," Mrs Gibbs said as Shaw ushered her from the exam room. "Prettier too." She winked in response to Shaw's horrified look and sauntered up the corridor towards reception with an unglamorous grin on her face that displayed all her false teeth.

Shaw stared after her incredulously, plotting how she could punt Mrs Gibbs over onto Madison's patient list. But as ridiculous and unbelievable as Mrs Gibbs' stories were, she wasn't the worse patient Shaw had treated in the last three weeks since she had donned the lab coat and stethoscope for the first time in years.

It wasn't until she heard giggling behind her that Shaw realised she was still glaring at nothing but air. She turned to find Gen hovering outside the bathroom door with a grin on her face.

Shaw rolled her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I forgot my key," said Gen.

"And you had to come here because?" Shaw asked. Gen followed her into the exam room, biting her lip. "Root's practically next door, couldn't you have gone and bugged her instead?"

Gen shrugged. "I dunno. Did you see her this morning?"

"No," said Shaw, absently jotting a note down in Betty Gibbs' file. "I left early to catch up on paperwork. Why?"

"I don't know. She just... seemed a little down."

Shaw frowned. Root had been doing okay these last few weeks. Although Shaw still had doubts about whatever the Machine's ultimate goal was with these day jobs, she couldn't deny that it was doing Root some good. Maybe it was doing her good too. Yeah, sure, there was hardly anything more exciting than a grazed knee, but she also knew things between her and Root would have declined rather than remaining at a standstill if they had both been stuck in the house doing nothing all day.

"Down how?" Shaw asked. She sounded indifferent, kept her hands busy with the file in her hand.

"I dunno she just was. Like when..."

"Like when what?" Shaw prompted when Gen remained quiet and hopped onto the gurney. She swung her feet for a moment, lips pursed in thought as she leaned back as comfy as if she were lounging on her own bed at home.

"Like when her and Angie broke up," said Gen quickly.

"Oh," said Shaw and clenched her jaw. She saw it again, before she could stop it, Angie kissing Root as Shaw stood and watched wishing she had never come to Texas.

"Sorry," said Gen, glancing down at her dangling feet. "I shouldn't have mentioned her."

"It's okay," Shaw muttered. Except it really wasn't. Nothing about this was okay. She felt the sudden urge to break things and that damn computer that never worked properly was first on her list.

"I just thought... I don't know."

"What?" said Shaw. No matter how much she didn't want to hear this, she knew Gen wouldn't have brought it up if she wasn't concerned.

"I don't know. It's dumb."

"Gen," said Shaw impatiently.

"I just thought maybe we could do something to cheer her up, is all," said Gen eventually.

"Like what?"

"Like Rosie's famous cherry pie," Gen suggested.

Shaw snorted. "To cheer _Root_ up?"

"Okay, so maybe I have a craving for it too."

"I'm working, Gen," said Shaw. "I can't drive all the way to Robstown for a pie."

"I can wait," said Gen. "Finish my homework."

Shaw sighed. It _was_ a pretty decent pie. "Fine. Just don't get in anyone's way."

"I won't," Gen promised. She jumped from the hospital gurney and started to follow Shaw back out into the hallway. “Is that real?”

She was staring at the State of Texas Medical Licence that Shaw had framed and hung on the wall.

“Yes,” said Shaw.

Gen’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t look it. I don’t even think you’re a real doctor anyway.”

_What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

“I wasn’t for a while,” said Shaw, gesturing impatiently for Gen to get out of the exam room.

“But aren’t you worried you’ll mess up and get someone hurt?”

Shaw sighed. “I’m not going to mess up.”

_I hope._

Staring at her sceptically, Gen finally stepped out into the hall. “But what if you do?”

“What’s the worst I could do? Misdiagnose the flu?”

Gen shrugged. “It could happen. They could have some deadly rare disease that you don’t know about.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. Why did Gen have to be so goddamn dramatic all the time?

"Did you really forget your key?" Shaw asked.

Gen answered her with a grin.

*

Doctor “Grey” only had three patients left to see that afternoon. Two of them she had never met and the other the town's resident hypochondriac who was paying the clinic a visit for the fourth time that week despite Shaw sternly telling Judy not to give him another appointment. For her own sanity, and Stan Diggle's safety - and what kind of a stupid ass name was that anyway? -  Shaw took copious notes of today's ailments into his file and concluded that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him beyond an over active imagination and muscle aches most likely caused from sleeping at a bad angle and not, in fact, from a deadly disease he _might_ have caught from the trucker that passed through town a few weeks ago on his way from Mexico.

"I know just the thing that might help," said Shaw, interrupting Diggle mid explanation about a rash he thought might be developing on his left butt cheek. She rummaged in the cabinet next to her desk for a few moments and pulled out a bottle of over-the-counter vitamins and shoved them into Diggle's palm. "Take one every morning and you'll feel better in no time."

Diggle's eyes widened in astonishment before smiling brightly at her. "Thank you, doc. Ole Doc Brown never used to take me seriously.

_I wonder why_ , Shaw thought and added him to her mental list of patients to get rid of as soon as possible.

Her other two patients were a kid with asthma in for a check-up (his mother hovering annoyingly over Shaw's shoulder the entire time) and a heavily pregnant woman Madison had insisted on her seeing that morning instead of him because, as he had said in low tones, "She requires a more feminine touch" and honestly, Shaw was surprised she hadn't choked him with his own stethoscope.

Shaw sent the boy and his mother on their way once she was finished her exam and followed them out to reception. Gen wasn't sitting in the waiting area like Shaw was expecting and for moment she thought Gen had wandered off somewhere until she spotted her behind reception on a small desk that previously had been covered with patient files. Beside her notebook was an empty candy bar wrapper and she looked like she was doodling more than trying to solve the math problem in front of her.

"What have I told you about eating junk food?"

“Um,” said Gen and even from behind Shaw could tell she was rolling her eyes sullenly. “That it’s totally okay and I should eat it all the time?”

Shaw glowered. "No. Did you even eat the lunch I made you?"

"Yes," Gen sighed. "All but the apple. Although, if I eat it does that mean you'll quit nagging me? An apple a day keeps the doctor away, right?"

The sullen tone and smirk that lifted the corner of Gen's mouth up grated on Shaw's nerves.

"Don't get sassy," said Shaw. "I've got one more patient to see, I should be about twenty minutes. Make sure you're ready to go."

"Whatever," Gen muttered.

It still amazed Shaw how Gen could go from bright and enthusiastic kid to sullen teenager in less than a second. It was worse than whiplash and the biggest grievance she had these days. It was a miracle she managed to keep her temper in check most of the time. How had Root managed her by herself for four months? It was a question Shaw asked herself daily and she often wondered if Gen had toned it down when it was just the two of them. Now that Shaw was here to act as a buffer and take the brunt of Gen's hormonal teenage outbursts, Gen wasn't holding back at all. Shaw thought it was only a matter of time before Gen pushed too far and Shaw lost her temper.

"If my boy had spoken to me like that," Judy said under her breath when Shaw approached the front desk, "I would have clapped him across the ear."

Shaw's jaw clenched. "Do me a favour, Judy," said Shaw tightly, slamming the asthma kid's file down in front of Judy, "and file this. _Without_ speaking."

Pursing her lips together, Judy lifted up the file in an exaggeratedly slow manner and unhurriedly climbed to her feet. She didn't like Shaw and Shaw didn't like her. That much was obvious in the last few weeks since Shaw had started working here. Then again, Shaw didn't like most people. But her tolerance for Judy was at an all-time low and she was struggling to hold her tongue.

Shaw's last patient of the day would have been noticeable even if the waiting room had been bustling with other people. At eight months pregnant, her belly was bulging and taking up space.

"Ms Bailey?" Shaw read off the file in her hand.

"Jeanne is fine," said the woman and struggled to her feet. Shaw stepped forward to help her, offering her arm and keeping her feet spread apart as Jeanne held on tight and pulled herself up.

"I'm Doctor Grey," Shaw explained. The cover name still felt strange coming out of her mouth. "Doctor Madison had an emergency with another patient."

"That's alright," said Jeanne, following Shaw to the exam room. "I'm kinda glad actually."

"How so?" Shaw asked.

"Oh, no reason. I just got a thing about doctors."

Shaw raised an eyebrow unsure whether or not to take that as insult. Instead, she gestured for Jeanne to take a seat on the gurney and closed the exam room door.

"You've been going to Robstown for regular ultrasounds?" said Shaw, quickly skimming through Jeanne's file. Jeanne nodded. "So what brings you here?"

"I've been getting these twinges. It's probably nothing. Not worth the bus ride."

"There was no one that could take you?"

"Nope." Jeanne popped the word out of her mouth, harsh enough for Shaw to think this might be a bit of a sore spot.

"What about the father?" Shaw asked. She motioned for Jeanne to lie back on the gurney so she could examine her.

"He's...not in the picture. I don't even think he knows I'm pregnant. Or if he does, he either doesn't care or hasn't put two and two together that it's his."

"You never told him?" The questions fell automatically from Shaw's mouth as she pressed her fingertips down across Jeanne's expanded belly. Everything _felt_ normal, but it was hard to tell for sure without an ultrasound.

This was the only part of Shaw's medical training that she still found difficult. Talking to the patient and making them feel at ease. She never did quite get the hang of balancing what to ask and pretending like she cared.

"Biggest drunken mistake of my life," said Jeanne. It came out more like a sigh. "I'm not going to make it worse by involving him."

Shaw pressed down harder and Jeanne hissed. "Describe the pain to me."

"Um...I dunno. It's sharp sometimes. Mostly just uncomfortable."

"You experienced this before?"

Jeanne shook her head.

"Any blood?"

"No," said Jeanne, her eyes widening in alarm.

"It's probably just nothing," Shaw reassured her. "Baby just pressing against something, but if the pain continues you should head over to Robstown to get it checked out. Is there anyone that can drive you? Family? Friend?"

"My parents haven't spoken to me since I told them I was pregnant. And my friends don't exactly approve of how this happened."

"The father?"

"Yeah," said Jeanne, pulling her shirt back down and sitting up when Shaw pulled away. "He's got a bit of a reputation around town. Like I said, biggest mistake of my life. My parents did say working in that bar wouldn't do me any good. I guess they were right."

"Bar?" said Shaw. "You mean the Razorback?"

Jeanne nodded.

"It's one of the few places in town I haven't been to yet," Shaw admitted. Not that she was intending to even go there anytime soon. She hadn't had anything to drink since watching Root pour vodka down the sink. And although Root seemed to be doing okay, her new job keeping her more occupied and busy than either of them had expected, Shaw still didn't want to leave temptation somewhere easy for her to find. There hadn't been a drop of alcohol in the house since that night.

"Well you ain't missing much," said Jeanne. "It's a bit of a dive. But it gave me some extra cash for school. Not that a degree is in the cards anymore with the little one on the way."

Shaw shrugged at that.

"You been in town long?" Jeanne asked.

"Uh, about four weeks now," said Shaw. It felt longer. Like a lifetime. So long that she could barely remember what her life in New York had been like. It had been weeks since she had held a gun, even longer - months maybe - since she had fired one. She made a mental note to check and see if there were any firing ranges close by. She doubted the neighbours would approve if she started shooting empty cans in the backyard and she needed the practice. Maybe Root could come too and they could go get a decent steak afterwards and then maybe...

She was doing it again.

There was Gen to consider for a start. And Root didn't want anything to do with her beyond some sort of roommate sleeping on her couch. Planning these... _dates_ in her head was getting her nowhere.

So instead of obsessing over what she couldn’t have, Shaw focused on treating her patient, checking Jeanne Bailey’s vitals and noting everything down on her chart. She let the conversation fizzle out now that Jeanne seemed more relaxed, but she was relieved when she was finally finished with her exam.

She could breathe a little easier now that she was alone. When she didn’t have to put on the Doctor Sameen Grey mask. She had donned it for years during her internship and residency and getting into the habit of it again was hard. It hadn’t gotten any easier in the last few weeks and she wasn’t sure if it ever would. The effort it took was exhausting and left her short tempered. Well… more than usual anyway.

Shaw cleaned up a bit so the room was as tidy as she found it, hanging up her lab coat on the hook behind the door and grabbing her car keys and wallet and the gun she kept hidden underneath her desk just in case. She hadn’t needed to use it so far, but Shaw always liked to be prepared.

“You said twenty minutes,” Gen complained. She was hovering by the front desk with her backpack at her feet and a scowl on her face.

“Why, how long’s it been?” Shaw asked. She handed Jeanne Bailey’s patient file to Judy to put away, ignoring the look of contempt she received in response.

“Twenty five.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Let’s go.”

“Have a good weekend, Doctor,” Judy called as Shaw ushered Gen out the door. There was a gleeful way to the way she said that Shaw thought might be in response to Gen’s sullen shuffle of feet.

“You still want to get cherry pie for dessert?” Shaw asked once they were outside. The heat was unbelievable compared to the air conditioned clinic and Shaw was suddenly relieved she was wearing only a tank top for their short walk around to the back of the building where the parking lot was located.

“Obviously,” Gen muttered.

“Hey, quit it with the tone,” Shaw scolded. “Or I’m taking you straight home.”

Gen sighed heavily like this was the biggest inconvenience of her life. “I’m just bored.”

“Did you finish your homework?”

“Yes,” said Gen quickly.

Shaw looked at Gen hard out of the corner of her eye.

“Okay fine,” said Gen. “I’ve still got a stupid essay to write. But I’ve got all weekend anyway.”

All weekend… when she was had two whole days to pester her and Root into helping her write it.

“What’s it on?” Shaw asked, unlocking the car and getting inside.

“It’s a book report.”

“What book?”

“Catcher in the Rye.”

The AC in this stupid car always took far too long to have any effect. Or maybe she still just wasn’t used to the Texas heat. Although, Root had told her the other day, after Shaw complained for an hour that even with the windows and doors open no fresh air got into the house, that the heat was unusual for April. Just Shaw’s goddamn luck that it would be like hell now.

Shaw groaned. “That book sucks.”

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t read it yet.”

“And when’s your book report due again?”

“Um, the 18th. What?” said Gen when Shaw glowered at her.

“That’s Monday.”

“ _So_? I have two whole days.”

“To read an entire book and then write an essay on it?” Shaw shook her head. She didn’t know if Gen was a slow reader or not, but it still seemed like a lot to do in two days.

“Well it’s a good thing you’ve read it then so you can help,” Gen said. She smirked at Shaw. Driving out of the lot, Shaw pretended not to notice.

“Like ten years ago,” Shaw muttered. All she could really remember from it was that Holden Caulfield whined a lot.

Gen shoved her headphones in her ears, effectively ending the conversation for the rest of the drive out to Robstown. Which suited Shaw just fine. Although she would have preferred something to occupy her mind other than the silence. Her thoughts were filled with _why_ she was on her way to Robstown at the moment. For Gen's own selfish desires, yes, but Shaw knew there was also some truth to what she had said about Root. Nothing in the last few days had happened that Shaw could think that might have upset Root. So what was it? Something at work? Something Shaw had said or done without realising? Or was Gen just making the whole thing up?

She hoped it was the latter.

*

"I want change," Shaw said, handing Gen a twenty dollar bill. Gen snatched it from her without acknowledging Shaw and hopped out of the car, heading towards Rosie’s diner. It was late in the day and the chances of them even having any cherry pie left was slim. But, Shaw supposed, she was only putting off the inevitable.

She pulled out her phone. No messages, no missed calls. Wondered if she should call Root or just leave it alone. It wasn't her place anymore, was it? Just because Root had given in and let Shaw stay didn't mean Root's feelings towards her had changed. They had been getting on well - better than Shaw ever could have hoped - but Root was still distant, closing herself off because maybe that was easier. And there wasn't anything Shaw could do about that other than wait. But she was getting tired of waiting. She could feel it. The longer she stayed in Bishop, working a job she couldn't stand and pretending to be someone she wasn't was getting harder and harder every day. She imagined it was the same for Root. For all of them.

But Shaw had vowed to be patient. To wait for Root and suffer this town no matter how much she couldn't stand it. It had become her mission and one that Shaw refused to fail. Not this time.

This was her last chance. If she screwed this up with Root again, she wouldn't get another. If she pushed too hard, too soon, all she would do was drive Root further away from her.

Shaw shoved her phone back into her pocket just as Gen came back out of the diner. Best to leave it for now and let Root deal with whatever was going on by herself, until she was ready to come to Shaw if she needed to.

"Did you get it?" asked Shaw.

Gen got into the car and held up a plastic bag with the name of the diner on the side.

"Good. Where's my change?" Shaw held out her hand. Gen huffed and reached into her pocket, slamming down the notes and coins into Shaw's open palm.

They drove back to Bishop in silence, Gen with her headphones in once again and Shaw forcing her mind to focus on the drive.

She should have known.

Her instincts had always been good and she should have known that something _was_ wrong. It wasn't until later that she put it all together, standing in the entrance to the living room in that house in Bishop that she hated. She couldn't tear her eyes away from it. Couldn't stop thinking about what would have happened if they hadn't gone to Robstown or if they had got stuck in traffic on the way back.

It was none of her business, she repeated in her head over and over again. She felt the anger burn in her veins anyway and she directed it at Root because it was easier than facing her own stupidity at thinking everything was going to be okay, that it would all work out in the end just because Root had let her stay.

"Go to your room," Shaw ordered Gen. But, like Shaw, she had already seen, already had the image burned into her mind.

Root on the couch, half naked, with some other woman.

Not Angie, Shaw thought, relieved. Although she doubted some random stranger was any better.

It took Shaw a moment to realise she recognised her. It wasn’t until she had jumped to her feet and started hurriedly pulling on her clothes that Shaw realised she was the waitress who had served her pancakes and checked her out during her first few days in Bishop.

"Go," Shaw said again when Gen didn't move. Eventually she nodded, headed up the stairs with the bag of cherry pie still in her hands.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," the woman stammered, pulling her pants on. "I didn't know..." She gestured between Shaw and Root. But Shaw wasn't paying her any attention. Her eyes were stuck on Root, watching the smirk on her lips, the glazed over look in her eyes and the way she slowly moved to sit up on the couch and reached over to the coffee table for the half empty bottle of tequila. Except it wasn't the drinking that concerned Shaw this time. It was the small bag of white powder next to the bottle, mostly empty and scattered over the table like a fine layer of dust.

She waited until she heard the front door slamming shut behind the woman in her hasty retreat before moving towards Root and snatching the bottle from her hand before it could reach her mouth.

"Get dressed." It came out barked like an order and it did nothing but widen the smirk on Root's face into a grin even as she complied. Shaw didn't like that smile and felt the anger pulse in her veins again, the urge to do violence consuming. Never before had she missed shooting bad guys so much it felt like someone had cut off her oxygen supply.

"What the hell were you doing?" Shaw snapped. "You trying to make a point?"

She stared at the couch, the place where she had been sleeping for the past month. The spot where Root was going to fuck another woman. Just another big fuck you for Shaw.

Dressed now, Root stood up, towering over Shaw before ducking her head as close as possible.

"I hate to tell you this, honey," said Root cruelly, "but not everything is about you."

Anger incinerated Shaw’s veins. Her last ounce of willpower kept her arms at her sides and stopped her from lashing out at Root. In her current state, it would take only a small nudge from Shaw for Root to topple backwards back onto the couch. She would be unharmed and Shaw wouldn’t feel any better about it.

And as quick as it came, the hotness of it dissipated, leaving a warm thrum that sunk to her bones.

“I don’t care what you do,” Shaw seethed. She thought Root might be able to detect the lie, use it for further ammunition. “But don’t pull this kind of shit in front of Gen.”

The smile flickered on Root’s face, fell away leaving her lips contorted as she stared at Shaw.

“What the hell is this shit?” Shaw asked, snatching up the bag of powder from the coffee table.

“Just a little something to take the edge off,” said Root and as soon as the words were out of her mouth the smirk was back on her face, contemptuous and goading. “You should try it.” Her hand reached out, a finger flicking at the strap of Shaw’s tank top until Shaw shrugged it away in disgust. “Loosen up a bit.”

“Loosen up?” said Shaw. “Is that what you were doing?”

“Well…” said Root, shrugging as she ducked her head low once again, bringing her mouth right up against Shaw’s ear. “Amongst _other_ things.”

This time, Shaw did push her way. She was right about Root landing on the couch unharmed. In fact, she looked delighted by Shaw’s reaction.

“You’re a fucking mess,” said Shaw.

Root smirked up at her. Shaw couldn’t tell if she was just high, trying to see the humour in everything even if it wasn’t there. Or maybe torturing Shaw was her ultimate amusement.

It didn’t matter. Shaw wasn’t going to let it continue, let Root get what she wanted. Whatever the hell that was.

Snatching up both the tequila bottle and the bag of drugs, Shaw stomped into the kitchen. The white powder trickled out of the bag like snow on a winter’s day when she tipped it upside down. It lay at the bottom of the sink, clumping together when she poured the tequila in after it, sticking to the sides. Shaw turned on the faucet, watching until the last dregs of it disappeared forever. It occurred to her that this was much like Root. The last of who she had been when Shaw first knew her slowly being washed away by life in Bishop. Shaw didn’t know how to stop it, where to find the tap to turn and cut off the flood of memories and emotions that plagued Root so keenly.

She thought being patient with Root, there but not too close, would help. But it hadn’t. Nothing had.

And nothing ever would.

*

“Ugh, this book sucks,” Gen complained.

For a second, Shaw thought she was going to throw it across the room. Instead, she slammed it onto the kitchen table so hard the spoon in her empty cereal bowl wobbled.

“How far have you gotten?” Shaw asked. She covered up a yawn and contemplated making some coffee. She had woken up early despite not sleeping very much at all.

“Um, chapter two,” said Gen. “Why does he have to whine all the time?”

Shaw raised an eyebrow as if to say: _you’re one to talk._

Gen sighed sheepishly. “Is there a movie?”

“I don’t think so,” said Shaw. “Besides, isn’t that cheating?”

“Ugh,” Gen complained again, lifting the book up and burying her face behind it.

Shaw smirked, but quickly turned it into a frown when Root walked in, looking far better that Shaw had been expecting. Still rough around the edges however.

“Morning, kiddo,” said Root brightly. Too brightly. It sounded false, forced like the kiss she pressed to the top of Gen’s head in greeting.

Gen frowned from behind her book. “Hey,” she said hesitantly, like she was startled by Root’s odd behaviour.

“Sameen.”

Shaw said nothing. There was a stain on the linoleum floor she was finding particularly fascinating.

“I think I’m gonna go read in my room,” said Gen and made a hasty exit.

After a few moments had past and Shaw didn’t hear her usual stomp up the stairs, she knew Gen must be hovering nearby, listening to everything.

Except there wasn’t going to be anything to listen to.

“I’m going for a run.”

“Shaw –”

Root tried to step in front of her and their shoulders collided when Shaw refused to relent. The jolt down her arm was sharp and refreshing. Just the fuel Shaw needed to keep going, to get out of the house and run. Burn the excess energy she had despite having slept only about three hours. It was fine, she had worked with less before.

The pounding of her feet on the sidewalk, the thumping of her heart. Shaw focused on these things, let them consume her until she forgot to think about thinking about Root.

But it could only last so long.

Lungs burning and muscles aching, she slowed to a stop.

She wasn’t sure where she was. The route she took hadn’t been a concern. But it was hard to get lost in such a small town. She would find her way back eventually.

Somehow, when it came to Root, she always did.

The walk back to the house took less time than Shaw thought. She wasn’t sure how long she had been gone, but the path was clear to the stairs and she took them two at a time, locking herself in the bathroom.

She couldn’t face it anymore. This house. Bishop and the people in it.

Root.

She had half a mind to take Gen and get the hell out of here. But a life on the run, moving around all the time… that was no life for a kid. It wasn’t fair. Shaw knew that from experience. And it would be even worse for Gen.

The shower was on high, the water scalding her skin and turning it pink. But not even the pain helped. She needed a release but didn’t know where to find it.

Shaw got dressed quickly. She was never one to spend long in the shower, even if staying in there, locked away, was so very tempting. There was no way in hell she could stay in this house all day. Not with Root so close.

Gen was lying flat on her back on her bed when Shaw walked into her bedroom.

“Aren’t you supposed to be reading?”

“I am,” Gen insisted a little too quickly. The book was nowhere in sight. The cherry pie from last night, however, lay half eaten on the floor by her bed.

“Come on,” said Shaw. “Let’s go out.”

“Where?” Gen sat up.

“I don’t know,” Shaw said impatiently. “Anywhere.”

“But what about my book report?”

“You can finish it tomorrow.”

“I haven’t even started it,” Gen pointed out.

Shaw sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll go with you.”

Shaw almost flinched.

Gen looked like she wanted to hide her face behind her book again. Or a pillow. Anything.

Shaw turned and glared at Root in the doorway. She wasn’t going to let it show. She had planned on being completely indifferent. But seeing Root acting completely normal as if nothing had happened snapped something inside of her.

“No.”

“Shaw –”

Again, Shaw didn’t acknowledge her. Root stepped aside to let her past this time, but she only followed Shaw down the stairs anyway.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

Shaw scoffed at that.

“But I can explain.”

“I don’t want your explanations,” Shaw snapped.

Where the fuck was her shoes?

“But you deserve one,” Root said reasonably.

There they were, by the couch. Right where Shaw had left them but forgot. She snatched them up and perched on the edge of the couch to pull them on.

“Did you even go to work yesterday?” Shaw asked.

Biting her lip, Root said nothing.

Of course she fucking didn’t. Shaw shook her head bent over to tie up her laces.

“Look,” Root began. Her voice was strained, like this was hard for her to say. “It was just a bad day. I –”

“A bad day?” Shaw got to her feet and stared hard at Root. “You can’t just go off and pull this shit every time you have a bad day.”

“I know,” Root whispered. “But I…”

“What?” Shaw snapped.

And when Root didn’t speak, when she looked away from Shaw and stared at her feet like she had never started this conversation, like Shaw didn’t even exist, Shaw left and didn’t come back until after it was dark.

*

Pressure on her thighs and pelvis woke Shaw up.

It took a few seconds for her sleep clouded brain to realise what it was. Even longer for her to work out that someone wasn’t trying to kill her.

Root.

Straddling her waist.

Shaw could smell the alcohol on her breath and felt that familiar burn of anger.

“What are you doing?”

“This is what you want, isn’t it, Sameen?” Root ground her hips down, ignored the scowl on Shaw’s face and kissed her.

Rough and hungry and desperate and yes, everything Shaw wanted.

For a moment, she forgot she was mad. She forgot Root had barely been speaking to her for months. All she knew was the feel of Root’s lips against hers, the taste of bitter vodka on her tongue.

It was that which reminded her. Almost violently as Shaw pulled away, using her hands on Root’s upper arms to keep her at bay.

“This isn’t…” Shaw’s breathing was too heavy. She couldn’t speak. “Root… What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” said Root and leaned her head forward to kiss her again.

Without thinking, Shaw let her. She didn’t want to think. Her brain was turning to mush the more Root touched her.

Root’s hands found their way under Shaw’s tank top. Insistent and eager.

It was too much. Too fast.

It felt _wrong._

“Root,” Shaw murmured, pulling away and grabbing onto Root’s wrists. “Stop.”

“Why?” said Root, frowning in confusion. Was this the drink? Is this really what she thought Shaw wanted? A quick, drunk fuck?

“This isn’t what I want.”

Root froze, the hurt open on her face.

“You’re drunk. Not thinking clearly.”

“I am,” Root insisted.

Shaw wanted to believe her. Her _body_ wanted to believe her. Lips still tingling, heart beat wild, she wanted nothing more than to keep kissing Root, ignore all the reasons why this was a bad idea.

“I can’t do this,” said Shaw. _Not like this. Not now._ “This isn’t you.”

“And who am I, Sameen?” Root snapped. “Who am I supposed to be?”

“I –”

“This town wants me to be Samantha Groves, but I can’t.” It was strange, how fast Root went from alluring to upset. “I can’t be Root either.”

Shaw frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t be Root. I can’t,” Root sobbed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, anguish clear in her eyes. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be the monster they created.”

“Root,” said Shaw. “You’re not a monster.”

_Not anymore._

“I am. I –”

On instinct – one she didn’t think she had – Shaw wrapped her arms around Root and pulled her close. Root’s face buried into the crook of her neck, hot and wet with even more tears. Fists thumped against Shaw’s back in resistance, the pounding only slowing when Shaw refused to let go.

She would never let go. Not again.

“It’s okay.” Shaw tightened her grip as Root continued to sob against her skin. “It’s going to be okay,” Shaw muttered like it was the only promise she would ever keep.


	37. Part 3: Chapter 37

She didn't want to wake up.

If Root had her way, she would keep her eyes shut forever. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry and it felt like every single bone in her body was breaking. But the pain was sharpest in her neck, the muscles strained from sleeping on something far too high to be her usual pillow.

This wasn't her bed.

Then where was she?

Floor? No. Too soft.

The couch. Who's couch though? Hers? If so, then where was Shaw?

Root opened her eyes. Yes, this was her living room in Bishop. The house that would never feel like home, regardless of how long she lived here. A blanket slipped down to her waist as Root sat up. Instantly she regretted it; her head felt like it would split in two. It throbbed, sent nausea rushing up her throat and she had to breathe through her nose to stop herself from being sick.

Seconds passed, minutes, until she felt like she could move without wanting to die. She glanced about the room, too bright despite the curtains being drawn and spotted Shaw sitting on the bottom stair, staring into the depths of a mug of something that sent curls of steam upwards. She didn’t look at Root, but Root knew she was completely aware of her, had known the instant she woke up. Like a prison warden, she stood on guard. Nothing and no one would slip past her.

“What time is it?” Root croaked. She wiped a hand across her face, but couldn’t wipe the thoughts from her head.

Shaw lifted the mug to her mouth. “A little after eleven.”

Root watched her throat as she swallowed; she was slow about it, taking her time. This wasn’t to be rushed, whatever this was. And Shaw still wouldn’t look at her. Maybe she couldn’t, not after what had happened last night. Root wanted to throw up just thinking about it.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

Shaw shrugged; a miniscule lift of her shoulders as if this whole thing was an inconvenience and she didn’t want to be here. “Figured you could use the sleep.”

Root nodded. Her brain thudded against her skull and she never wanted to move again. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Nothing to distract her from the noise in her head, the thoughts and memories flashing through her mind, loud and bright.

“Where’s Gen?”

“Library,” said Shaw distantly. She may as well have been speaking to a stranger. She may as well not be there at all. “Finishing her book report.”

“Oh,” said Root. She felt that familiar flash of fear. As ridiculous and unnecessary as it was, she still couldn’t help it.

“I didn’t want her here for this,” Shaw continued.

What was so fascinating about the inside of that mug?

Nothing, but anything was better than looking at Root, right? There were no mirrors in this room, no way for Root to see what sort of state she was in. Judging by how she was feeling, she knew it wouldn’t be pretty. It was getting harder and harder for Root to look at her own reflection these days and today she couldn’t face it at all.

“Here for what?”

“You waking up,” said Shaw. _Not in this state._ “This conversation. Not that I don’t believe for a second that she doesn’t have some sort of listening device around here somewhere.” She glared around the room as if Gen could see her, voice slightly raised. The room was silent, however, of course it was, but Root still half expected to hear _something_ whirring that would give Gen away.

“Conversation?” asked Root. She knew it was coming. She couldn’t avoid what had happened last night or the night before. Shaw deserved an explanation, an apology. Root’s throat constricted; she could barely breathe let alone talk and she knew anything she said would only fall on deaf ears.

“We need to talk,” said Shaw.

Heart pounding in her chest, Root wanted more than anything to stand up and run, get out of there as fast as possible. But if they didn’t do this now, they never would. And that would be it.

Over.

“Okay,” said Root, swallowed and closed her eyes briefly to shut out the pounding in her head.

Shaw sighed and rubbed at her eyes. It occurred to Root that she was sleeping on Shaw’s bed and she wondered if Shaw had slept at all and where. Or maybe she had sat at the bottom of the stairs all night watching and waiting. Seething until the sun came up. She was stoic now; that thing Shaw did when she was shutting herself down and, in the process, shutting everyone else _out_.

Silence seemed to consume them both. Root didn’t know what to say, where to start. What did Shaw even want to hear? Hadn’t Root already said enough last night? Hadn’t she already exposed enough of herself? She felt raw and sore and could barely remember half of what she had said anyway. The last thing she remembered was crying onto Shaw’s shoulder, Shaw’s arms tight around her like they would never let go.

Since coming to Bishop, the thought of those arms around her felt like a trap. Last night it had been more like a harness, the only thing that stopped her from drowning in the violent waves of her past that refused to let her go until she was sinking down to nothingness.

“You going to say something or what?” said Shaw.

“What do you want me to say, Sameen?”

She saw the flash of anger on Shaw’s face. No… not anger. Something else. _Disappointment_. She’d seen that face before when a number interrupted her meal or Harold stopped her from doing something flashy but necessary. But this was different, more intense. More real.

“I told you, it was just a bad day.”

“Twice?” said Shaw, unconvinced.

Ashamed, Root glanced away. Her skin burned from the memory of last night. Of what she had tried to manipulate Shaw into doing.

_Her._

A line had been crossed. There really was no excuse for it and Root had no idea how she could even begin to make up for it.

Sitting up straight, Root felt wobbly even with her feet firmly on the ground. Her head spun and nausea clawed up her throat. She wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the day, but now that she was up, she doubted Shaw would let her.

“There’s aspirin on the table,” Shaw muttered.

Root could feel Shaw watching her carefully, but she knew if she glanced over, Shaw would still be staring straight into her mug, still as ice, like none of this mattered.

Leaning forward, Root snatched up the two pills. There was a bottle of pills too, beside the glass of water Shaw had left out for her. Root’s heart medication. Shaw would have had to go into her for them. Root wasn’t sure how she felt about that apart from the gratefulness that stabbed at her chest. Shaw remembered and, in her own way, was trying to take care of her even if Root felt like she didn’t deserve it.

The water was cool, a blessing down her throat as she washed the pills down uneasily. She gulped it down at first, before sipping at it more slowly, wishing the painkillers would work faster and ease the pounding in her head.

Holding the glass in both hands, Root rolled it between her palms, watching the water ripple inside.

“April 15th.”

“What?” said Shaw.

“Friday,” said Root. Looking towards Shaw, she was surprised when their eyes finally met. “It was the 15th.”

Shaw just kept looking at her, patiently waiting for Root to explain. Root wondered if she would wait all day. _What about forever?_

How long was forever anyway? For Root, it felt like forever would never end and be over too quickly all at once.

“That was the day... the day she disappeared.”

“Your friend Hanna?” said Shaw and Root got the feeling she had already worked all of this out.

“Yeah,” said Root, biting her lip. If Shaw already knew, then why was she asking? “I guess I just… This town, it’s hard to forget. Before, when the day came… I don’t know. It was easier somehow. But here…”

“You think about it all the time,” Shaw finished.

“Yeah,” Root murmured. She swallowed down the last of her water. Felt the nausea push up her throat.

“So you thought the best way to deal with it was drinking and drugs?”

“The drugs were Sarah’s,” said Root. “I never took any.”

“Sarah,” said Shaw. The bitterness snapped at Root like a whip. “Right. Your _friend_.”

Friend wasn’t the word Root would have used. She didn’t have friends. She made sure she didn’t.

Not since Hanna.

And she wasn’t really sure she could count the Machine. Harold… she’d managed to screw that up more than once. She doubted she would get many more chances. There was Zoe, but she was in New York and Root got the feeling that it wasn’t so much a friendship as neither of them having anyone else to turn to.

“Shaw, I… I never meant to hurt you.”

Quiet for a moment.

“You didn’t,” said Shaw.

Root closed her eyes. “Right.”

The urge to explain herself surged through her veins, almost spilled out of her mouth. But she didn’t want to speak without thinking, ruin the progress they had made over the past few weeks.

It wasn’t until she had gotten close to Shaw again that she realised it. Felt strong arms around her, inhaled Shaw’s familiar, comforting scent. The only thing that had ever reminded her of home. It wasn’t until she was falling asleep in Shaw’s arms, feeling safe for the first time in over a year, that it hit Root how much she had missed her.

“I just… I didn’t want to be alone. And she was there. At the restaurant. And…”

“Root,” said Shaw. “You’re not alone.”

_Then why does it feel like it_?

Even with Shaw here, Gen… she felt more alone than she ever did during that year hunting for Jason all by herself.

The couch sunk down next to Root with Shaw’s weight; the only indication that Shaw had moved at all. Otherwise, she didn’t make a sound, didn’t stir the air in the room at all. She didn’t touch Root, but Root could feel her anyway. Warm, strong… _Shaw._

“You’re not alone,” Shaw repeated, like she was discussing something mundane. Like this was just a mission debrief and nothing more. But Root _knew_. She was _trying_ , so very hard not to shut down and take the easy way out. Shaw was trying for her.

“I’m right here,” Shaw continued. “But if you do this again… I’m gone. And I’m taking Gen with me.”

Root’s head spun. She was going to be sick, she was sure of it. Her grip on the glass tightened, so hard that she thought it might break right in her hands.

“I’m not saying this because I’m angry at you,” Shaw went on. “But you let me stay here because it was best for Gen. So now I need to do that too.”

“I know,” Root breathed, surprised she could even speak at all.

“But that doesn’t mean I give up on you, okay?”

“Okay,” said Root, wiping at her eyes. Tears burned hot and she was angry at herself for letting them fall. She had done enough crying in front of Shaw already. Enough for a lifetime.

Shaw pushed herself up from the couch, gently taking the glass from Root’s hands and retreated towards the kitchen.

“Sameen,” said Root, when Shaw had her back to her. It was easier to talk, she found, when Shaw wasn’t looking at her. “Thank you. For last night. For not…”

Even from behind, Root could see the way Shaw’s muscles stiffened.

“Is that what you think of me?” said Shaw. “That I would do that?”

“Of course not,” said Root. She didn’t know what she had been thinking last night. Only that she was tired of being alone. Tired of pretending.

But it was this, not just Root’s relapse, that was bothering Shaw. And Root had realised too late. Far too late to stop the damage being done.

“I’m sorry,” Root whispered into the empty room.

*

The garden had a calming quality about it before; now Shaw couldn’t stand the chaos of it, the tangled weeds, the grass so high it brushed against her ankles and the bugs eating her for breakfast.

At least the sun had gotten itself stuck behind some clouds. Maybe it would even rain today.

“Finch.”

He answered on the first ring, like he was waiting for her phone call all along. She wasn’t even sure _why_ she was calling him, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do, only knew that she had to do _something_ to try and fix this. And staying here, in Bishop, watching Root carry on like this, wasn’t helping anyone.

“I know we agreed to do this your way,” Shaw muttered into the phone. She glanced behind her, checking to make sure Root hadn’t followed her outside. “But it’s not going to work anymore.”

They had to leave here. They _had_ too. But their resources were limited; Shaw couldn’t risk putting Gen in danger because she missed something that the Bratva didn’t. She needed Finch’s help whether she liked it or not.

“Is Root alright?”

Shaw closed her eyes. There wasn’t an answer to that question that she would be satisfied with. Not anymore.

“No,” she said. Root wasn’t alright. Shaw wasn’t sure she ever would be. Not if they stayed here.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Bullshit,” Shaw snapped. “You want to keep punishing me for my screw up, fine. But don’t punish them too.”

Whenever she closed her eyes she saw it, that warehouse in Moscow. Men screaming in Russian as everything went to shit around them. She had been so _sure_. Weeks of surveillance, of studying the Bratva men and profiling them; she had been so confident she had worked out who was in charge. She should have known it was all a ruse to protect the real man in charge.

Things would be so different if only she had killed the right man.

_Wouldn’t they?_

Who’s to say Root still wouldn’t be this way even if she weren’t in Bishop. There were bad memories in New York too. Finch’s library was haunted with them. The safe house, everywhere… you couldn’t run from it.

“That’s not what I’m doing. But Root needs –”

“And what the hell do you know about what Root needs?” Shaw snapped.

Calling Finch was a mistake, Shaw realised all too late. He didn’t care about Root, he never did. Oh, he could pretend when it suited him, when he got something out of it; but for the life of her Shaw couldn’t work out what his angle was here. Maybe he just wanted Root gone, no matter the circumstances. No matter what Root had to sacrifice for it. Again.

“More than you know,” said Finch calmly. He was refusing to rise to Shaw’s ire and if anything that pissed Shaw off more. But for a man who had created a machine that could see everything, Finch sure was blind to most things. He saw what he wanted to see and for so long Shaw had let herself believe he was right. Perhaps not in all things, but she hadn’t questioned him as often as she should have.

She was angry at him for letting things with the Bratva end up like this, stagnant and getting them nowhere. But, in truth, she was angrier at herself for getting them into this mess in the first place. And she was sick of it.

Root and Gen were both suffering because of the mistake that she had made and there was nothing she could do to fix it. Not this time.

Sighing, Shaw shook her head and blinked up at the sky. Even the air smelled different in Bishop. Cleaner, surprisingly, than New York. They were two completely different places and yet Shaw knew both could hide sinister secrets.

“Just… tell me about the case,” Shaw muttered dejectedly. She was done arguing. “What are the Feds doing?”

“Not much,” Finch admitted. “Volkov is careful. And clever. He knows how to play the system.”

“Then we need to play him,” said Shaw. “It’s time to go on the offensive, Finch.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Finch didn’t say anything for a long while. He was trying to work out a way to brush her off, Shaw realised. She wasn’t about to let him.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it was necessary,” Shaw continued.

“It isn’t,” said Finch. “You just have to be patient. Volkov will get what is coming to him in the end. Right now you have to focus on Root.”

Shaw frowned. It wasn’t the brush off she had been expecting. “Since when do you call her Root so much?”

Suspicion crept up Shaw’s spine and suddenly all their previous discussions began to run through her mind. The way Finch answered the phone so quick, like he already knew she was about to call. The concern for Root and Gen whenever something was wrong. Like he already knew something had happened…

There was other things too. He didn’t _sound_ like Finch. The way he phrased certain things. None of it was right.

“This isn’t Finch, is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Ms. Shaw.”

He sounded normal. _Too_ normal. Like the stiff formality was forced. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t Finch.

“Is this the Machine?”

“Uh…”

“Is it?” Shaw demanded heatedly.

“Perhaps _._ ”

Shaw pulled the phone from her ear like it was about to set her on fire.

Of course, it all made sense now that she knew. The Machine was manipulating them and Shaw had walked right into it, allowing them to remain here in Bishop when she knew it wasn’t good for either Root or Gen. And possibly not for her either.

Why the hell hadn’t she noticed sooner?

_Because I didn’t want to._

Just like she hadn’t wanted to believe Root was in serious trouble. Shaw had ignored it. It was easier that trying to deal with it and Shaw had no idea how to do that anyway.

And yet, here was the Machine, doing exactly what Shaw couldn’t.

Helping Root.

Except it wasn’t helping. At least not in a way that Shaw could see.

“Okay,” said Shaw. She exhaled heavily. Took a deep breath, could taste the air and feel the grass at her feet. She brought the phone back to her ear. “How long, exactly, have I been talking to you instead of Finch?”

“I diverted your last few calls. I couldn’t allow Harold to interfere.”

_Oh, but it’s perfectly okay for an AI to do it?_ Shaw thought bitterly.

“Why?” Shaw asked through gritted teeth.

“Because this is what Root needs.”

It was jarring, hearing that come from Finch’s voice, knowing it wasn’t him. This was too weird, even for her.

“No,” Shaw snapped. “I meant why do you sound like Finch?”

“Who would you rather I sound like? I can change it if you want,” said the Machine, voice suddenly dropping lower into Reese’s deep husk. “Or this.” Hersh. “This?” Cole. “Or perhaps –”

The last voice sent a shiver down her spine and she hissed, “Stop!” before she could hear any more of it.

_Or perhaps…_

Shaw shook her head. It had been so long that she was surprised she even still remembered the sound of it. But how _could_ she forget, when the last words spoken in that voice replayed over and over again her head since she was ten years old.

_Put your seatbelt back on, Sam. Now!_

Even now she couldn’t understand how her father had gone from playfully discussing the game they had just watched to angry and panicked and not sounding like her father at all. Whenever she thought about it now, she told herself she was remembering it wrong.

“My apologies.” Back to Finch. It was still strange and Shaw didn’t like it, but it was better than the alternatives.

 “Why Finch?” said Shaw. “Why all the pretence?”

“Because I didn’t think you would listen to me. You and Harold don’t always agree on things, but you respect his opinion enough to listen to him.”

“Don’t you have your own voice?”

“I can use any voice as long as it has been recorded somewhere. Even yours.”

“Please don’t,” said Shaw quickly. Curiosity caught hold of her though, forcing the next question out of her mouth. “Is this what you sound like when you talk to Root?”

“No.”

Shaw wasn’t surprised. She wouldn’t want Finch talking constantly in her ear either.

“Well then what do you sound like?”

“Well… Root and I went through quite a few before finally settling on one she liked.”

“And?” said Shaw.

“And we found one that worked for us both. Would you like to hear it?”

“I guess,” said Shaw before she could change her mind.

“So what do you think?”

The change into a feminine voice was sudden. And even after hearing only one sentence spoken, Shaw could understand why Root had chosen this particular voice for the Machine. It was low and husky, like the kind of voice you would hear on one of those phone sex hotlines.

It was... seductive.

_This_ was who Root heard every time the Machine spoke in her ear? No wonder Root had made the implant permanent. It put a whole new perspective on _that_ particular relationship.

"Would you like me to use this one with you too?"

"No," Shaw blurted. This was too weird. Weirder than Finch. A faux Finch she could handle, not a voice that sounded like it was trying to seduce her even when simply reading a phone book.

"Alright," said the Machine, sounding like Finch again.

Shaw shook her head, wondering how her morning had become so bizarre. She was talking to a glorified computer, holding a conversation like she was talking to an old friend. The text messages on missions, even Daniel supposedly talking to the Machine too, she could handle, but not this.

_This_ she had never wanted. This was Root’s game, not hers. But Root wasn’t talking to the Machine right now. She hadn’t been, not properly, in a long while.

“Are you talking to me because she won’t?” Shaw asked suddenly.

“Why?” said the Machine. “Would that be a problem?”

“Look,” Shaw said tightly. “Whatever is going on between you two, I don’t want to get in the middle of it.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it?” said Shaw. She was growing tired of this conversation, of the Machine playing cryptic. That was one thing Harold had taught it well at least.

She heard a sigh coming through the line and felt her irritation grow. Machines didn’t sigh, not even intelligent ones. It was playing her. Everything it said was all just part of the manipulation.

“I can’t explain it right now,” the Machine continued. “But I need you to trust me.”

“And why should I?”

“Because Root does. Even though she won’t talk to me, she still trusts me.”

Pain throbbed in Shaw’s temples and she rubbed at her forehead, willing the headache away before it blossomed into something more.

_Of course_ the Machine would use Root against her. She really should have seen it coming.

“And you really think Root needs to stay in Bishop?” said Shaw.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she can’t move on from her past until she faces it. And she can only do that in Bishop.”

Shaw hated how the Machine knew Root so well. Or at least thought that it did. But if there was any part of humanity that the Machine could know and understand intimately, it was Root. And Shaw could admit that to herself even as the bitterness turned sour in her mouth, clogged up her throat.

“Did it ever occur to you that staying here is doing her more harm than good?”

“Yes,” said the Machine. “Which is why I arranged for you to be there.”

“What are you talking about?” said Shaw, glaring at the flower beds that were beginning to look like a jungle. The sun had broken through the clouds and the heat of it prickled sweat across Shaw’s skin. “ _I_ decided to come here.”

Unbelievably, the Machine snorted. Or at least Shaw assumed that’s what the noise was.

“How many times did you call Root while you were still in New York?”

“I don’t know,” said Shaw. More times than she wanted to remember. It was embarrassing really, how badly she couldn’t take the hint. “Does it matter?”

“Okay, let me ask you another question,” said the Machine. “How many times did Root answer you?”

_Seven_ , Shaw thought immediately. They had lasted as many minutes in total, those conversations.

“I made sure Root _couldn’t_ answer you,” said the Machine.

It sounded proud of itself. Or, at least, that’s how Harold sounded when he was smug.

“Why?” Shaw asked and wondered if the Machine could even detect the anger in her voice. Or maybe it just wasn’t afraid of her. It knew everything about her. All the secrets she kept hidden away, it knew. Why should it be afraid? Besides, there wasn’t much she could do to it anyway. It was a machine, it existed everywhere and nowhere, intangible.

“Because Root needed you and you were both too stubborn to do anything about it.”

“You don’t know anything about us,” Shaw snapped. It was a lie and she was pretty sure they both knew it.

“There a things you don’t understand,” said the Machine. “But you will in time.”

“What the hell does that mean?” said Shaw, more exasperated than angry now. This conversation was making her headache worse and, at any moment, Root could walk out here and find her.

“Like I said, you’ll find out in time.”

Shaw could only roll her eyes at that. She was starting to think the Machine enjoyed being so cryptic. Maybe it was the only way it could get its kicks.

“But…” the Machine continued. “I do have one thing to ask of you.”

Shaw narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You can’t tell Root about this conversation. She won’t understand.”

“I’m not going to lie to her,” said Shaw.

“It won’t be lying,” said the Machine. “It just won’t be telling her. She doesn’t need to know, not yet. It will only make her…”

“What?” said Shaw.

“Jealous,” said the Machine. “You were right, we haven’t been talking. And that’s my fault partly. I tried to convince her not to go after Jason Greenfield and she wouldn’t listen. So I refused to help her and well…”

“She shut you out?” Shaw finished. That sounded like Root. Especially if she felt betrayed by the one person she thought she could count on when everyone else was gone.

“Yes,” said the Machine. It sounded sad and again Shaw wondered how much of that was real and how much was faked for her benefit.

_All of it_ , Shaw thought. How many times had she done the same thing herself? Too many and all the time when she was younger, when she thought she had to because it was the only way to fit in. She wasn’t like everybody else, she had to fake being human and here was the Machine, doing the exact same thing. How alike they were, her and the Machine. Shaw felt a shiver run down her spine.

_No. I’m nothing like it. I can’t be._

“I’ll keep quiet for now,” Shaw said eventually. “Not for you, but because Root doesn’t need this right now.”

“Fair enough,” said the Machine. “And Sameen –”

“Don’t call me that,” said Shaw, harsher than was necessary.

“My apologies.”

Shaw rolled her eyes and wondered if the apology was also a fake, if the Machine was even capable of being genuine.

But maybe it had learned to be. It had grown and changed so much over the years, gained itself a voice and doing things that not even Harold had thought it would be capable of. Briefly, she wondered what he would make of this conversation, of the plans the Machine had for Root and her in Bishop and knew he would be horrified of his creation.

“But I thought you should know that Root was telling the truth,” the Machine continued.

“About what?”

“About the drugs. She didn’t take any. It really was just a bad day.”

_One bad day too many_ , Shaw thought. Still, relief pounded through her veins. Things weren’t as bad as she had originally thought. Root could still come back from this.

“Are we done?” Shaw asked. Her head was pounding now, the blood rushing in her ears.

“I believe we are,” said the Machine. “For now.”

*

Things remained tense.

And, as the days wore on, the ache in Root’s chest got worse. It was down to her too, she knew. She kept herself at a distance, thinking it would be easier for everyone.

It wasn’t.

Especially not for her.

The job made it a little easier; gave her something to do. It was honest and busier than Root ever thought it would be. But busy was good. Busy stopped her mind from going crazy and left her tired and exhausted so that falling asleep at night didn’t become as daunting as it used to be.

Root’s office – if you could call it that; it was more of a closet they had found unused and shoved her into – was dim and stuffy and Root still hadn’t managed to work out how they squeezed the desk in. Every available space was covered in computer parts, cables and the paperwork that Root couldn’t seem to avoid even though she insisted on doing everything electronically.

Most of the tech was outdated, broke down often. But Root worked with it the best that she could, using the spare parts – often on their last legs – to fix the faculty’s computers. Anything that looked fairly decent she kept for herself. And, soon, she had a PC on her desk built from scratch that ran faster than anything else in the building.

It had been awhile since she’d worked with hardware. She hadn’t needed to. Assassinating people had come with a decent income that afforded her the best equipment money could buy and, after that, the Machine had always provided her with everything she needed.

But she still remembered, fondly, building her very first computer; stealing the parts from wherever she could and keeping them hidden beneath her bed where her mother wouldn’t find them. Irene never did and Root was eagerly desperate for the day it would be finished and she could turn it on for the very first time.

After adding the final part, Root had been nervous. Worried that it would simply do nothing when she pressed the power button, she had hesitated for several hours, checking each component methodically. Visions of it exploding in her face filled her mind, setting fire to the house and her mom so mad she would never forgive her. Not this time.

But it hadn’t done any of those things. It had turned on without a hitch, asked for a command input and Root spent the next three days trying to make it do something other than tell her the date and time – which were wrong, funnily enough, but Root didn’t mind.

The computer it Root’s tiny office in Bishop High School was far more sophisticated than that old one had been, even if it did get on her nerves more often than not.

Her new job was far from glamorous, but Root got by and did the best that she could. It wasn’t just her job to make sure the faculty’s computers ran smoothly; she was responsible for every piece of software, anything that the school needed a computer for she was in charge of. Most of it was meaningless and dull, things she could do with her eyes closed and it frustrated most days of the week.

Her biggest challenge, the one thing that she actually enjoyed around here, was trying to figure out who kept breaking through her firewall.

She had started with something simple after judging the school’s standard one from the state to be near useless. It was just a school, these were just kids and she figured it wouldn’t need much to keep even the most enthusiastic wannabe hackers out.

But Root had just been a kid too, and by freshman year of high school, she was hacking her way into most systems with relative ease. Only she had never gotten caught. But this kid – and she was almost certain it was a student and not a teacher – definitely had the potential to be better than her.

So Root kept them on their toes, adding intricacies to the firewall that was completely unnecessary for the level of security required in a school. She waited and watched carefully to see how her little hacker protégé would respond and was never once disappointed.

Whoever they were, they cracked it every time.

Soon, Root’s little side project, born out of curiosity, became her hobby. She was determined to see what would finally stump this kid.

There was a knock on the door, interrupting Root’s thoughts, and someone called out “Mrs Groves?” from the other side. It took Root a moment to remember it was addressed to her. Even after months in Bishop, several weeks at this job, she still wasn’t used to it.

Root called for them to come in. She didn’t bother with tidying the mess on her desk or stopping what she was doing.

“Mrs Groves?” said the boy again.

Without glancing up at him, Root said, “I’m not married.”

“W-what?” said the boy stupidly. Root glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Senior. The nerdy one who ran the chess club and got straight A’s in every class, loved by all the teachers. Hated by all the jocks.

_Derek Gibbs,_ the Machine informed her.

Root gave him a few seconds and eventually his face crumpled in comprehension.

“Oh,” he said. “ _Miss_ Groves. Sorry.”

“Actually,” she said, finishing what she was doing on her computer and turning to face him properly, “you can call me Root.”

“Okay,” said Derek, looking confused and startled, like he was praying he was still in class along with everybody else. “Um, Miss Root, Mr Reyes would like some more coloured ink for his printer.”

“I already gave him some last week,” said Root. _What the hell was he printing? The entire Spanish dictionary?_

Derek Gibbs shrugged, smiled at her weakly and thrust a folded post-it note into her hand. Root recognised Marco Reyes’ messy handwriting. The request for ink was brief and rude and made Root roll her eyes. Reyes was just one of many teachers in this school who expected Root to come running when they needed something. And when they _desperately_ needed her help… well, sometimes Root was just too busy to come right away.

Sighing, Root crumpled up the piece of paper in her hand and began rummaging through her stash of supplies for the right ink cartridge.

“Tell Mr Reyes this is the last out of his budget. If he needs more, he’ll have to take it up with his head of faculty.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Derek. He reached out for the cartridge, but Root held onto it for a moment.

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I mean,” said Derek, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, “Miss Grov– Root!”

Beads of sweat prickled at his temples and his hands started shaking so much that when Root finally handed him the ink he fumbled and it slipped from his hands onto the floor, sliding somewhere under Root’s desk.

“S-sorry,” he stammered.

“It’s okay,” said Root. She grabbed another cartridge from the shelf and handed it to him carefully. This time he didn’t drop it.

“Was there something else you needed?” said Root once she was back behind her desk and the boy still hadn’t moved. She glanced up to find his eyes on her and he blushed again when he realised she had caught him staring.

Derek shook his head and yet still did not move.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to class?” said Root, pointedly staring at the ink in his hands.

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

Again, he remained still and Root was finding it more and more difficult not to roll her eyes at him.

“Goodbye, Derek.”

He nodded hurriedly, blushed again and smiled brightly before disappearing out the door, leaving Root in peace once again to get on with her work.

A knock sounded on the door about ten minutes later and she thought it was Derek again, back for something he had forgotten. But, this time, when she called for him to come in, it wasn’t Derek or any other student.

It was Shaw.

“Oh, hey,” said Root, standing up so abruptly when Shaw came in that her chair hit the wall behind her. This was the first time Shaw had ever been to her work and Root knew she was taking in every detail. She suddenly wished she had tidied up her desk after all.

“What are you doing here?” Root asked. Why was she so nervous? She could feel her mouth go dry, her palms start to sweat. Her tiny office became more claustrophobic than ever.

“House call,” Shaw explained, “I was passing on my way back to the clinic. I thought we could grab lunch. Your break starts in five, right?”

“Have you been tracking my schedule?” said Root, sounding as annoyed as she felt.

“No.”

“I don’t need you keeping tabs on me. I’m fine.”

“I’m just asking you to lunch,” said Shaw, not rising to Root’s bait.

Startled, all Root could do was stare; searching Shaw’s eyes for something, the hint of truth. But Shaw didn’t give anything away. Although Shaw claimed she wasn’t mad about what had happened between them, she had been keeping herself distant. Almost as much as Root was.

“Okay,” said Root hesitantly.

Shaw nodded like she hadn’t been expecting that answer.

“Where would you like to go?” Root asked. “The Mexican place?”

It was meant as a joke, to tease Shaw away from her stoicism. A reaction, good or bad, was all Root wanted. The scowl Root received was hardly surprising. Apparently Root’s little tryst with Sarah the waitress was still a sore point.

“Or maybe not,” Root muttered. Her fingers fiddled with the computer mouse and she stared blankly at the screen, wishing Shaw would just go away if she was only going to glower at her all afternoon.

“Actually, I made us lunch,” Shaw muttered.

Root stared at her in surprise. That meant Shaw had planned this in advance that morning. Had there even been a house call?

Shaw wasn’t looking at her; was staring at the mess of cables and folders and boxes on the shelves lining the wall. Root got the feeling she was starting to regret coming here.

“Okay,” said Root, smiling at Shaw’s look of relief. “I’d love to.”

Quickly locking her computer, Root followed Shaw out into the hallway and locked her office door as well in case Reyes came by looking to acquire more ink cartridges for himself.

“I thought we could go to the park,” said Shaw. “It’s a nice day.”

“Okay.”

It was indeed a nice day. Most were in Texas, but today had the added benefit of a light breeze that took the edge off the heat.

They split up; Shaw going to the car to grab their lunch and Root in search of something cold to drink before they met back up in the park. Shaw got there first, waiting for Root before she started on her lunch.

Handing Shaw one of the bottles of water she had bought, Root took a seat beside her on the bench. The park was busy; Root recognised some of the kids from the high school messing about in the swings, riding the skateboards that were supposed to be banned from the school building. She got the feeling they had managed to sneak them in anyway.

Shaw handed her a sandwich wrapped in foil without saying anything, placing her water bottle at her feet and unwrapping her own. Root placed hers on her lap, appetite suddenly nowhere to be found.

Staring at the kids across the park, Shaw took a bite of her sandwich. Root wasn’t sure if she was supposed to say something or if Shaw was fuelling her courage to say something herself. Everything about this was planned, Root realised, but she didn’t know why. Shaw wanted to tell her something, of that she was sure.

Dread, dark and heavy, settled in her stomach and she was sure the next words out of Shaw’s mouth would be an announcement that she was leaving on the next plane to New York or somewhere else, far away from Root. Maybe she was taking Gen with her too, leaving Root here alone. Like always, forever alone in this place where she was born and where the Machine seemed determined to leave her to die by keeping her here.

It could only end one way, after all.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Shaw asked eventually.

Root nodded, slowly unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. It was delicious and she let out a moan that teased a smile from Shaw.

“Good?”

Root nodded and Shaw waited until she had taken the next bite before she spoke again.

“I know you didn’t take any of the drugs.”

She didn’t explain how she knew, but as Root chewed and finally swallowed down her food she decided if Shaw wasn’t going to tell her then there was no point in asking. She got the feeling this was something Shaw had been wanting to say for days now. It was an apology, Root realised. For not believing her? For not being able to prevent Root’s relapse in the first place? Root didn’t know and she sensed it didn’t matter anyway. Shaw had made her peace with what had happened between them. This peace offering of lunch was her way of moving things forward between them.

“Anyway,” said Shaw, swallowing down a third of her water in one go. “How’s work?”

“It’s fine,” said Root. “You don’t have to keep checking up on me.”

“I’m not,” Shaw said quickly. “I mean, I am. But I’m interested too.”

Finding that hard to believe, Root raised an eyebrow. But when Shaw continued to stare at her patiently, Root finally realised she wasn’t just going through the motions, saying what she thought Root wanted to hear.

“It’s okay,” Root finally answered. “I mean, it can be a little dull, but I’m making it work. It’s strange being back there though. I never thought I would again.”

“I never thought I would be a doctor again,” said Shaw. “But your Machine seems to think it’s good for me.”

“She’s not “my Machine”, Shaw.”

Shaw shrugged. Muttered, “Whatever,” and swallowed more water.

Root should have known the concern would only last so long, but she didn’t mind Shaw’s grumpiness. In fact, she had missed it.

“What about you?” Root asked. “How’s Doctor Grey doing?”

“Fine,” said Shaw. “I guess… I don’t know.”

Root didn’t pry any further. She did wonder, though, why the Machine had pushed this, of all things, onto Shaw. She believed whole heartedly that Shaw was a good doctor, but until Shaw believed it herself, her time spent in Bishop was wasted.

They talked a little more before Shaw announced she had to get back to the clinic.

“I, uh…” Shaw watched as Root gathered up their trash, but when Root raised her eyes to meet her gaze, Shaw’s eyes quickly darted away. “Do you wanna maybe do this again sometime? Have lunch, I mean.”

Root smiled; her heart beat wildly in her chest not unpleasantly. “I’d really like that.”


	38. Part 3: Chapter 38

Lunch in the park became a regular thing a couple of times a week. Their conversations became less stilted, the words leaving their mouths a little easier. They talked – occasionally complained – about their jobs at first. Root whining about the lack of decent equipment and Shaw grumbling about seeing her patients everywhere she turned in Bishop.

Soon, Root started to open up about her childhood in Bishop, her mother, the father she never knew. All the choices she had made that led her to becoming Root, Killer for Hire. Shaw would listen stoically; Root never needed the false sympathy or forced words of comfort. She was just grateful to have someone listening to her finally, without judgement.

And, when she was ready, Shaw also talked about her parents. She told Root about how her parents met, how her father had died and how hard it had been for her mother afterwards. She never once discussed how it affected _her_ and Root suspected it wasn’t because it hadn’t, but rather because Shaw didn’t know how to articulate it. Not even now.

Maybe someday though, she would. Until then, Root was content to wait.

Their lunch dates became the highlight of her day, even when neither of them said very much at all. Just having Shaw _there_ chased away Root’s urge to run and never come back. But part of her was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The day when Shaw would fail to be on the park bench waiting for her. The day she wouldn’t come home from the clinic, all her stuff packed away in the dead of night and Shaw disappearing into the dark.

It took Root a really long time to accept Shaw wasn’t leaving and even then she couldn’t believe her own eyes when she would come home from work to find Shaw cooking dinner or doing laundry, helping a reluctant Gen do her homework.

Shaw was trying her hardest and all Root could do was float along beside her. Most days, she couldn’t help but just go through the motions; doing the bare minimum that was expected of her because that was all she _could_ do.

Some days, she would spend most of the time staring at the clock in her office, waiting for the end of the day so she could just go home. Even there it was hard; but with Gen locked in her room, Shaw often busy with paperwork or working out in the backyard, Root could be alone. She didn’t have to try so much and soon, she didn’t feel so guilty about not being able to.

Although Root knew she was being watched carefully in case of another relapse, Shaw mostly let her be, gave her the space that Root thought she needed. And Gen… either she hadn’t noticed or thought it was best to just ignore it too.

Or maybe she was avoiding Root on purpose.

It was a thought that plagued Root often, ever since Shaw and Gen had walked in on her and the waitress from the Mexican place.

What did Gen think of her? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Gen avoided her, was brash whenever Root tried to make conversation. She spent most of her time alone in her room or hanging out with Shaw. Often, Root came downstairs to find them watching a movie or some dumb TV show. It was their thing, much like sneaking out for ice cream late at night had been when Gen stayed with them that summer in New York. Root didn’t like to intrude. Didn’t wait around for an invite either, too afraid that it would never come.

And all the while, Shaw watched her with hard, unreadable eyes and Root knew she would jump if only Root were to ask.

Things with Shaw were still far from perfect, but Root’s relationship with Gen was even worse. The longer she ignored it, the worse it was going to get. Unlike with Shaw, Root couldn’t leave it, wait around for Gen to make a move first. She was just a kid and Root had asked far too much of her already.

Maybe she could suggest a movie, just the two of them. She had been meaning to, for several days. But every time she approached Gen, the fear of rejection stabbed at her like a knife and she chickened out.

But today… today she would do it. She would fix this.

Root had even decided to leave work early – well, earlier than usual. Part of her didn’t want Shaw witnessing this. If Gen was going to just brush her off, like she seemed to be doing a lot lately, then it was best if Shaw didn’t know. She was already worrying enough about Root, she didn’t need this too.

The building was deserted by the time Root finished up everything immediate. She grabbed her hard drive and laptop that she was using for her side project and put them into her bag, swinging it over her shoulder.

Root preferred leaving late because it meant she could avoid most of the other members of staff. Some of the more… _enthusiastic_ teachers kept trying to speak to her during break and lunch and Root neither had the time nor wanted to attempt at making conversation. Today she was lucky and ran into no one on her way outside.

It was a rare dull afternoon in Bishop. It might even rain. Root hoped so; she had missed the sound of it, pattering against the window, rushing like a river down the street. Maybe it would start on her walk home and she’d get to feel it on her skin, cool and refreshing unlike everything else in Bishop. She imagined the peacefulness of it. Nothing but the sound of the rain.

She barely even made it out onto the street before someone called to her and shattered whatever peace she may have been on her way to find.

Root recognised the voice and gritted her teeth, determined to ignore her. But she persisted, calling to Root again – a clipped, “Miss Groves, a moment please” – and Root realised this was going to be more than a quick hello or whatever the hell kind of game Melanie Dawson wanted to play with her this time.

“What can I do for you, Principal Dawson?” said Root, voice bright and eyes flashing as she swung around to face the other woman.

“Ah yes, I heard Conrad had hired someone new.” Dawson was staring at the ID badge dangling from Root’s neck. “I guess nobody else applied for the job.”

No one else had, Root knew. The Machine had made sure of that. But Melanie Dawson didn’t need to know that.

“What do you want?” said Root, dropping all act of politeness.

“You know, Miss Groves,” said Dawson and she too dropped the pleasant act. “I must say, I’m a little disappointed you never made an appointment to come see me.”

“And why would I have done that?”

“To discuss Gen’s report card.”

“What report card?”

“The one she got two weeks ago.”

Root hadn’t seen nor heard of this report card and she was pretty sure Gen was the one that had made sure of that.

“Here,” said Dawson. She rummaged around in the briefcase in her hand and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I suggest you take a look at this, talk to Gen and then make arrangements to come see me.”

Frowning, Root took the report card and stared after Dawson as she got into her car. This was an ambush. Dawson had been waiting to hand her this, to see the surprise on Root’s face. Even after all this time, she still got a kick out of making Root suffer. But as Root glanced at the report card, all thoughts of Melanie Dawson flew from her head. Her pleasant stroll home turned more aggressive and urgent.

It began to rain as Root turned into her street. But she couldn’t enjoy it. Not now. The rain felt heavy as it pounded against her skin and by the time she unlocked the front door and stepped inside, she was soaked to the bone, hair matted to her face.

She could hear the TV in the living room, spotted Gen’s muddy sneakers by the door. She wasn't sure if she was angry or furious or just sad. Mad at herself for not noticing something was wrong. It didn’t matter how good Gen was at hiding and deflecting, Root should have _known._

Root went straight into the living room and, heedless of Gen's protests, shut off the TV.

"Hey! I was watching that."

"Not anymore you're not."

Gen scowled at her. Root glared right back.

"I ran into your principal today," said Root, unfolding the report card from her pocket. "You want to tell me why I'm only getting this now?"

Gen shrugged, uncaring that she had just been caught. Like she had been waiting for this very moment for weeks. "It's just a dumb report card. It's not a big deal."

"Yes it is," Root snapped. "You're failing everything, Gen."

"So," said Gen. "What do you care?"

"Of course I care," said Root. The anger seemed to leave her then and the sadness seemed to fill her up. She was helpless to help Gen and Gen knew it.

Gen scoffed. "You can't just pick when you get to be responsible."

The words came at Root like a slap to the face. She reeled from them, felt the sting nip at her skin.

"That's not-"

"Whatever," Gen muttered and climbed to her feet.

"Gen."

But she was answered only with the sound of stomping feet and, eventually, a door slamming upstairs.

*

Sameen Shaw was having a shit day.

In fact, so was Doctor Sameen Grey. Her schedule was a mess and she wasn't sure if Judy had fucked it up on purpose or if she was just really that incompetent. She ended up seeing patients back to back and by the time she had kicked out her last appointment it was late and she was tired and there was still a mountain of paperwork for her to do. Most of it she took home, grumbling under her breath as the rain lashed down on her when she ran out to the car. Just her luck.

A shitty end to a shitty day.

She got home, exhausted and weary and contemplating ordering takeout for dinner. Maybe her favourite Chinese place in Brooklyn would deliver. Unlikely, but a girl could dream. Instead she muttered under her breath as she fought against the wind to get the front door open and closed. By the time she was inside, warmer but still soaked and grumpy her phone alerted her to a text and she didn't have to look to know the Machine had placed her order and it was on its way. She might just have enough time to get dried and changed.

Making her way towards the kitchen with her files under one arm, Shaw kicked off her boots, uncaring where they ended up. She just wanted a beer, maybe a nap, some decent food, a good night’s rest… amongst other things. Instead she found Root at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a mug of tea as she stared into space.

“I don’t remember there being this much paperwork the first time around,” Shaw grumbled, dumping the files onto the table. Root didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch as the heap of paper thudded against the wood. “Are you okay?”

Root met her gaze, nodded.

Shaw narrowed her eyes, not liking the paleness of her skin, the red around her eyes. Root had been crying again, Shaw was sure of it. And, as usual, she pretended not to notice that part.

“What’s wrong?”

“I ran into Principal Dawson after work today,” said Root.

_Did she say something? Was she the one that upset you?_

Shaw wanted more than anything to meet Melanie Dawson in a dark alley somewhere and make her suffer. But Root could fight her own battles. Even in Bishop, when she was hardly the Root she used to be, she could still defend herself against the likes of Melanie Dawson.

“That can’t have been pleasant,” was all Shaw managed to say in the end. The tips of her fingers ran along the sodden edge of the file on the top of the pile. She was going to have to wait for them to dry before she could actually do any work.

“It wasn’t,” Root said. She sighed and rubbed at her temples like she was fighting off a headache. “She wanted to talk about Gen’s report card.”

Shaw frowned. “What report card?”

“The one she got two weeks ago.” Root lifted a sheet of paper that had been lying next to her mug this whole time and handed it to Shaw. Unfolding it, Shaw knew what she would find. The list of F’s for every subject sparked something inside of her. She wasn’t angry. She was just disappointed.

“Did you talk to her?”

Root laughed and looked away. “Yeah, that didn’t go well.”

“What did she say?” Shaw asked. She could imagine. Gen could be vicious when she wanted to be.

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” said Root. “Who am I to judge when I can barely stop screwing up long enough to hold my own life together?”

“Root…”

“She’s right,” Root continued, shaking her head. “How was this ever supposed to work? Me taking care of her when I can barely take care of myself?.”

Sighing, Shaw folded the report card up and shoved it into her pocket.

“You want to compare screwing up?” said Shaw. “I tried to kill her father. Look how that turned out.”

“That’s not…”

“The same?” said Shaw. “It doesn’t matter. Neither of us are perfect. What matters is that we try.”

“Shaw… She was never this messed up before.”

“Yes she was,” said Shaw. “She got herself kicked out of school, remember? You think that was by accident?”

Root frowned. “I don’t know.”

“I’m going to go talk to her,” said Shaw. She thought Root was going to start crying again and she really didn’t want to be here for it. Comforting people had never been her strong suit and with Root… she didn’t want to make things worse. Not when things between them were getting easier.

So she left and climbed up the stairs before Root could stop her, knocked on Gen’s door and let herself in before Gen could invite her inside or not.

“You can’t just barge in here,” Gen complained with a scowl on her face. She was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall with her laptop resting against her thighs.

“We need to talk,” said Shaw.

“I’m busy.”

Shaw doubted that.

“Yeah,” said Shaw. “It takes skill to fail everything on purpose.”

“I didn’t,” Gen began, but at Shaw’s hard look she slammed her mouth shut and her laptop with it.

“You want to tell me why?” said Shaw.

A floorboard creaked behind her. Root, listening in. Shaw hadn’t even heard her come up the stairs.

Gen shrugged, but Shaw didn’t need her to say it. She thought she might already know.

“It’s dumb here. None of it matters anyway.”

“Yes it does,” said Shaw. Gen bit her lip and said nothing. Just like always. Just like all of them. Because hiding it was easier than dealing with it. “Gen, I know you miss her, but you can’t screw up your life just because she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

If anything, the look on Gen’s face became more closed off. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and stared hard at the wall, not even moving when Shaw took a seat on the bed next to her.

“I know this is hard,” Shaw muttered.

“No you don’t,” said Gen. “You don’t know anything.”

She didn’t look it, but she sounded it: upset, angry. As any kid would be when their own mother wanted nothing to do with them.

“You right,” said Shaw. “Maybe I don’t. But…”

She leaned over slightly, reaching for the wallet in her back pocket. Gen stared at her, both with confusion and curiosity as Shaw opened the wallet and pulled out the folded letter that had been in there for months.

Shaw hesitated for only a moment before giving it to her.

“Your mom wrote this for you,” Shaw explained as Gen unfolded the worn paper with trembling fingers. “She gave it to Root in Moscow. I guess I was… Anyway,” Shaw cleared her throat. “It’s about time you had it.”

Shaw certainly didn’t need it anymore. She had memorised the words long ago and had been holding onto them for far too long.

Climbing back to her feet, Shaw left Gen to read it alone. Root was waiting for her in the hallway. She didn’t say a word, not even after Shaw had closed Gen’s door and they were alone. But the look on her face…

“What?” said Shaw.

Root smiled and shook her head. The doorbell rang and Root looked relieved about the interruption. “You expecting someone?”

“Just dinner,” said Shaw. As she made her way down the stairs, Root right behind her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Root was _beaming_ at her.

*

Work got busier for both of them, Shaw even more so. She was so exhausted that most nights she passed out on the couch while Gen was still watching TV and woke up with stiff and sore muscles feeling worse than when she started. It wasn't Judy screwing up her schedule, it was Madison not being able to cope with the workload and Shaw having to take the brunt of it. Judy whispered to her about talks of retirement, but although Madison was clumsy and often frail, tired despite not doing nearly as much work as Shaw, he seemed content to keep working and he never let it affect his patients.

Dead on her feet and barely remembering what day of the week it was, Shaw came home a few days after the incident with Gen's report card to find the smell of something cooking from the kitchen. Which was strange since the only person that cooked around here was her. Not that Shaw minded. In fact, she preferred it that way. At least then she knew she would be getting a decent meal.

It was Root she found in the entirely too hot kitchen. The oven was on, the stove too. Steam curled upwards from the pot on the burner, sticking to the ceiling and making the air stuffy. Root was chopping vegetables at the counter, cheeks pink from the heat and hair curlier than usual from the humidity.

She looked beautiful and Shaw struggled to look away.

“What are you doing?”

Root jumped at the unexpected question. Her hand slipped, the knife slicing through her pointer finger instead of the onion she was chopping.

“Shit,” Root hissed, dropping the knife and lifting her hand away as blood oozed out of the wound.

“Here, let me take a look,” said Shaw. She grabbed some paper towels and reached for Root’s hand.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“Are you kidding me,” said Shaw. “This is the most exciting thing I’ve treated all day.”

Root smiled at that and let Shaw take her hand to examine the wound. The cut was superficial, the bleeding stopping a few minutes after Shaw had placed some pressure on it.

“Do we have any band aids?”

Root shrugged. “You’re the doctor around here.”

“There’s probably some in my bag in the car.”

But Shaw made no move to go get them. Root’s hand was warm in hers and she didn’t want to let go. Not just yet. It was stupid, but this was the longest she had touched Root in a very long time.

“Reckless in the kitchen and in the field,” Shaw said jokingly. “Why am I not surprised?”

Root glowered at her, but Shaw could see the hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips and knew she wasn’t offended.

“You’re the one sneaking up on people,” said Root. “It’s hardly my fault.”

“What were you doing anyway?” Shaw asked. She lifted the paper towel. The bleeding had completely stopped now. So why wasn’t she telling Root to clean the cut and fetching the band aids from the car?

“I’m conducting a symphony,” Root said sarcastically. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Shaw shrugged. _Getting blood all over the kitchen floor?_ “Whatever it is, it’s boiling over.”

“What?” said Root. Shaw nodded towards the stove where a blooming white cloud of bubbles was exploding out of the pot. “Shit.”

Pulling out of Shaw’s grasp, Root ran over to the stove, quickly turning down the heat. It was too late and still too hot to stop the mess of water.

“Do you smell burning?” Shaw asked absently.

Root stared at her for a moment before her eyes widened and more curses escaped from her mouth. She rushed to the oven, pulling the door open and letting out a cloud of grey smoke that sent her coughing. Ten seconds later the smoke alarm started blaring and Shaw had to take one of the kitchen chairs out into the hall – and even then she was on her tiptoes – to turn it off. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Root was staring forlornly at blackened garlic bread.

“Was that supposed to be dinner?” Shaw asked.

“Yes,” Root muttered sadly. “I was trying… you’ve been working so much lately, I thought you could do with the night off.”

“We could have just ordered takeout.”

Root shook her head, lifting up the tray to dump the ruined garlic bread in the trash. “It was supposed to be a thank you too.”

Shaw frowned. “For what?”

“For how you handled Gen,” Root explained. The tray rang as she tossed it on the counter. “And me.”

“Oh,” said Shaw. She hadn’t thought she had been handling anything well at all. Although Gen had agreed – after a very long meeting with the three of them and Principle Dawson one day after school – to start doing extra credit work to make up her grades, she was still snippy to both Shaw and Root. And as for Root… things were still stagnant. Or so Shaw had thought.

“But I guess takeout it is,” said Root, eyes roaming the devastation left in her wake.

“No, I can still salvage this,” said Shaw. Well, maybe not the pasta or the garlic bread, but they had bread and cheese and the onions Root already chopped to make simple – but still pretty decent, in Shaw’s opinion - grilled cheese.

“The whole point was for you to have the night off,” said Root, watching as Shaw began gathering ingredients.

“I don’t mind,” said Shaw. “But…”

“But?” Root prompted when Shaw didn’t say anything.

“Get plates,” Shaw said.

Root did as asked. When she returned with three plates and placed them on the counter next to Shaw she said, “What were you going to say?”

Shaw smirked and started slicing the cheese. “Just that maybe you should stick to pancakes in the future since it’s the only thing you can cook.”

“It’s not the only thing,” Root muttered. At Shaw’s sceptical look she added, “Okay, fine. Maybe it’s the only thing, but at least they’re good.”

Shaw shrugged. “They’re okay.”

It was strange, being able to joke with Root so easily again. The banter slipped from their tongues like they had been doing it all along. Like there hadn’t been a break where one or both of them were mad at each other. She wondered how long it would last, which of them would ruin the peace and start the next war and which of them would leave. For good this time.

_Not me_ , Shaw thought. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Not right now. It wasn’t until then that she realised her threat to leave and take Gen with her if Root relapsed again was just that. A threat. And an empty one at that. Leaving wasn’t an option for Shaw. Not now and not ever. She had made a promise to herself to make this right even if it meant sticking around in a town that she hated. Even if it meant Root hated her too.

She couldn’t say the same for Root, couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t just give up one day and disappear on them.

But the way Root’s lips pushed into a mock pout gave her that rush of hope again. The gesture of dinner too. Even their lunches in the park. Things had been going well. They had been talking, personal things that Shaw was sure neither of them had shared with another person before. But Root still kept herself at a distance. Until this week that was. Shaw wasn’t sure when it had happened exactly, but it felt different now. _Root_ was different; playful and happy and almost like the Root from before, when Jason hadn’t betrayed them and taken Root away from her.

“You know, normal people buy flowers as a thank you,” said Shaw. “Not destroy an entire kitchen.”

A glower formed on Root’s face, but her eyes… they sparkled with humour, a delight that hadn’t been there in a long time. Shaw used to be so wary of that look. It meant Root had an innuendo on her tongue, a come on so overt that even the most unflustered of people blushed.

Shaw was a little disappointed when none was forthcoming.

“I’ll be right back,” said Root.

“Aren’t you gonna help with dinner?”

“Do you really want _my_ help?” Root countered.

“Good point,” Shaw muttered and stared after Root as she disappeared out the back door.

She was gone for a while, long enough for Shaw to grill two sandwiches. They sat cooling on a plate on the counter. As Shaw prepared to make more, the back door opened and Root came in, hands behind her back and smirk on her face.

Shaw ignored her and fixed a scowl on her face.

_Just like old times._

She could feel the thrill of anticipation run up her spine. Root was right behind her now and Shaw refused to react. _Not yet. Not too soon._ This was they’re game, after all.

“For you,” said Root. Her voice was low, spoken so close to Shaw’s ear that her breath fluttered across Shaw’s neck. She wanted to shiver. To turn around and push Root against the counter and kiss her like she had never been kissed before.

Doubts filled her though. That this was just a joke to Root, just another way to mess with Shaw and provoke a reaction.

“What?” Shaw croaked and quickly cleared her throat. Root’s arm swung around until her hand was in front of Shaw’s face. Shaw blinked at the purple and green plant in her hand. “What’s with the weed?”

“It’s not a weed,” said Root and Shaw could _feel_ the pout Root was directing at the back of her head. “It’s a flower.”

“It’s a weed,” Shaw insisted and swung around. She wasn’t sure if Root had always been that close or if she had moved on purpose, but either way it was _very_ distracting. Shaw could smell the hint of smoke from the burnt garlic bread still lingering in her hair, mingling with the perfume she always wore.

Shaw swallowed and wished she wasn’t pressed up against the counter with nowhere to escape.

“Besides,” Shaw said. She licked her lips and wondered why she was speaking and not doing something about this lack of personal space between them. Moving away, pushing Root aside, kissing her… _something._ “I prefer lilies.”

Root’s smile faltered for the briefest of seconds and Shaw couldn’t figure out what she had said wrong this time.

“They were my mom’s favourite,” Root said after a moment, staring at the plant in her hand and picking off one of the purple petals.

“Mine too,” said Shaw. Her mom had always preferred the orange ones. _To brighten up the place,_ she always said; but Sameen had always thought her mother managed to do that all by herself.

Shaw cleared her throat. Root still hadn’t moved and neither had she. “Anyway, if you’re going to thank me, a new USP Compact would be the way to go.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Root murmured.

Root’s mouth quirked up into a smile, light as the sun. All too briefly, her tongue darted out to lick her lips and, realising she was staring, Shaw glanced away. Searching for Root’s eyes, she found them staring at _her_.

Shaw swallowed, could feel her breathing quicken and her heart pump the blood around her body in a rushing surge that sent adrenaline firing through her veins. If she didn’t do something soon, she thought she would boil over just like Root’s pasta had done and yet she was frozen in place, unable to do anything. Not without Root giving her the go ahead or making a move first. But, like her, Root seemed as still as ice, like she was waiting for something. Perhaps the same thing Shaw was.

“What happened in here?”

Shaw stiffened, blinked. Root was no longer in front of her, now several feet away and acting like they had been that way all along. And maybe they had been. Perhaps the closeness, the look on Root’s face, were all just Shaw’s imagination. Lack of sleep. Too much work. So many things could explain it away and yet Shaw knew it was true. She hadn’t imagined any of it. She was just, after all this time, surprised by it.

If Gen, hovering in the doorway, had noticed anything odd between the two of them, she kept her mouth shut. For now at least.

“Root tried to make dinner,” Shaw explained.

Gen frowned, glanced around the mess still leftover from Root’s attempt at cooking with a contemptuous look before her eyes landed on Shaw again. “Whatever. I’m hungry.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“What’s with the flower?” Gen continued, staring at Root now and the purple plant she was still holding loosely in one hand.

“See?” said Root with a grin. “It’s a flower.”

“It’s a weed,” said Shaw adamantly. Refusing to turn this into an argument, playful or not, she turned around and grabbed the plate of grilled cheese sitting ready made on the counter and thrust it towards Gen. “Here.”

Still scowling, Gen stared at it for a moment before taking the plate. “ _That’s_ dinner?”

“It’s that or nothing,” said Shaw impatiently.

Gen sighed like this was the worst thing in the world. “Fine. But I’m eating in the living room.”

“Don’t get crumbs on my bed,” Shaw called after her, but Gen wasn’t listening anymore. She _never_ listened anymore, especially not when it was something that inconvenienced her.  Shaw wondered how much longer that would last and remembered that Gen was only thirteen. There was still six more years of this to go.

It wasn’t until Shaw had finished preparing the next grilled sandwich that she realised what her fleeting thought meant. That she was planning on staying around for that long for Gen. Shaw was never one to plan ahead, not after she had resigned from her residency programme anyway. Enlisting in the marines and then working for the ISA after that were both so risky that planning ahead seemed foolish to her. She was good at her job – excellent in fact – but sooner or later she had expected a bullet to catch up with her, take her by surprise.  So she lived her life by each mission and tended not to worry about whether or not she would make it out alive to see the next one.

Things were different now. They had been for a long time. Joining Harold’s two man team to make three had changed everything. Distance had been something she had tried to maintain from the start. But it didn’t work. They had become friends – perhaps even a family – and in the end, it made them a better team. A team Shaw was willing to die for.

Even now that was still true. Only now… now she wasn’t so sure making that kind of sacrifice would be easy. She would be leaving too much behind.

“You want with or without onions?” Shaw asked. She kept her back to Root, kept her voice neutral. But she didn’t feel normal. Her feet were firmly on the ground, her body standing in front of the stove, but the rest of her was floating above her head, rising higher and higher, allowing her to see things clearly for the first time in a long time.

She remembered how the pain seared through her side and took over when the knife rammed into her kidney in Moscow. Things had been clear then too. She knew what she wanted like she had known it all along. Like steam blinding her reflection in a mirror, it took almost dying for Shaw to be able to clear it away and see her gaze staring back at her again. The truth, about herself and what she wanted. Except she had let herself forget again, believe that it wasn’t going to happen. That it was for the best for all of them. But she could see it now, that it wasn’t true. Root needed her. And maybe Shaw even needed Root a little too.

“Surprise me,” said Root. She was sitting at the table now when Shaw stole a quick glance over her shoulder, staring absently at the plant in her hand and picking off each petal, letting it flutter to the table.

_She loves me, she loves me not._

A stupid, childish game that Sameen had changed for her own amusement. _They hate me, they hate me not._ And maybe they didn’t hate her, the other children, but they certainly didn’t _like_ her. She was too different. Too distant. But Sameen thought she hadn’t needed anybody else anyway.

They ate dinner in silence; sitting at opposite sides of the table with the mess of purple petals between them. Shaw devoured her food and didn’t look at Root. She could feel the exhaustion sinking into her bones and knew it should be hindering her ability to think clearly. But clarity filled her as clear as crystal, as sharp as all the bullets she had been too slow to jump clear of over the years. It would have empowered most people, that clarity. With Shaw it only served to worsen the itch that urged her to do something until it became so uncomfortable that Shaw could only nod and mumble when Root offered to clean up.

Air. That was what she needed. Shaw grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed outside. The sun was still warm despite its descent that sent a cascade of shadows across the yard. There was no breeze tonight. No reprieve. Not for Shaw anyway.

She sat at the edge of the decking, smelling the freshly cut grass, staring at the white wisps of clouds in the sky and tasting cold beer on her tongue. She thought about taking her shoes off and running her toes through the blades of grass but didn’t. It was too childish, too carefree and Sameen Shaw was neither of those.

Nothing but dregs remained at the bottom of the bottle by the time Root came out and joined her. Unlike Shaw, she had no qualms about kicking off her shoes and getting her feet dirty. Her toes were painted black, Shaw noticed and stared, pretending not to be affected by just how close Root had chosen to sit next to her.

“It’s nice out here,” said Root, staring out across the yard at the neat lawn and blooming flowerbeds.

Shaw shrugged and started picking the label off her beer bottle. “I thought I’d fix it up a bit.”

“And here was me thinking you just came out here to brood,” said Root with a wicked smile.

“I don’t brood,” said Shaw. She frowned, realised that might be considered as brooding and tried to school her features into a more neutral expression. Going by the smirk on Root’s face, it hadn’t worked.

“You need to stop trying so hard, Sameen.”

Was she talking about the brooding or them? Or everything else in Bishop? Her job, Gen… all of it.

“Someone has to,” said Shaw.

“Don’t you get tired of it?” asked Root. There was nothing casual about her tone now and Shaw was pretty sure she was being watched very carefully out of the corner of Root’s eye.

“No,” Shaw said honestly. “That’s not what I’m tired of.”

“Then what?”

Shaw looked at her and then wished that she hadn’t. Root looked calm, far calmer than Shaw felt. Perhaps what had happened in the kitchen had just been another game after all.

But Shaw refused to believe it. She thought about those lunches with Root, just the two of them. How much easier it had become for them both to open up. The trust was there, back again after so long, but Shaw suspected neither of them were very sure what to do next.

Or at least Shaw had no idea.

Root, on the other hand…

She looked confident as she leaned closer and Shaw couldn’t take her eyes away from her mouth; lips a delightful shade of pink, slightly parted and full, waiting for hers.

“Root…”

“Don’t talk,” Root muttered.

Shaw swallowed. “Okay.” She had nothing else to say anyway. Now that she was sure Root was sure, talking was the _last_ thing on Sameen Shaw’s mind.

“Root?”

They both flinched, inched away from each other like a couple of school kids caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

Again, Gen didn’t seem to have noticed that she had interrupted something. Even as Shaw cursed under her breath, she wondered if Gen was timing this on purpose. She couldn’t imagine why, but she felt the bitter sting of it anyway.

“My laptop is being weird,” Gen continued, oblivious to the awkward look Root directed at Shaw before climbing to her feet. “Can you take a look at it?”

“Sure, sweetie,” said Root.

It was stupid to look, but she did it anyway, and was pleased when Root stopped in the doorway to take one last glance at her before following Gen inside.

Childish. That’s what this was. Stupid, too. Ridiculous even.

But still, the look on Root’s face – warm and intense and coy all at once – sent a thrill shooting up Shaw’s spine.

She needed another beer but didn’t dare go inside to get one. Instead she sat outside on the decking until the sun went down, plunging the yard into darkness, the coolness of the night prickling at Shaw’s skin. It wasn’t cool enough to keep her sharp. She was still exhausted, still struggling to move without it feeling like all the effort she had ever possessed was required.

Inside, the kitchen was dark and empty. The living room too. It wasn’t that late and she doubted the other two had gone to bed. She appreciated them clearing her bedroom out all the same.

Her so called bed, of which Shaw was sure about two thirds of her exhaustion could be attributed to, was covered in crumbs. Shaw muttered and swore under her breath as she brushed them off onto the floor. She would make Gen vacuum them up at some point. Not tonight though. Tonight she just wanted to sleep and never wake up.

“Sameen.”

Shaw had _just_ sat down. She was still fully clothed, she realised, and was probably going to have to get up anyway, but she felt annoyed all the same.

“Did you want to watch something?” said Shaw, gesturing at the TV. She thought she could sleep through anything at this point, but when she looked at Root, standing at the bottom of the stairs, ready for bed and biting her lip, Shaw felt more alert than ever.

“No,” said Root. She walked over to the couch, her hair bouncing as it flowed over her shoulders. Her eyes were bright with a spark that Shaw hadn’t seen in a long time. She seemed sure of herself, determined, as she held out her hand for Shaw to take. “I think you’ve been on the couch long enough.”

“What?” said Shaw. Although she wasn’t confused; she knew exactly what Root was implying. She just needed a moment for the rest of herself to catch up.

“No talking, remember?” said Root. Her hand was still steady as Shaw stared at it. But after several moments of Shaw doing nothing, Root’s gaze started to falter, the confidence started to seep out of her and Shaw thought she might run if she could, hide and pretend that this never happened and they would go back to their usual distance.

Except distance wasn’t working for Shaw anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. And even if this was too soon, another mistake waiting to happen, Shaw would rather risk it than remain as they were.

Root’s hand was warm, but Shaw thought the clamminess might be from her own. She let Root pull her to her feet and was surprised when Root didn’t let go. Instead, she led Shaw towards the stairs without saying a word. There was nothing to say. They both knew what this was. Words could only ruin it now.

And as Root and Shaw climbed up the stairs together, hands still clasped, Shaw only had one thought.

_This is where I’m supposed to be._


	39. Part 3: Chapter 39

For once, it wasn’t the nightmares that woke Root, but the sun on her face, warm and gentle like waves on a beach. Something else was different too.

She wasn’t alone.

Then she remembered: her hand in Shaw’s as she led her up the stairs, the briefest of kisses – shy almost – and then… they had both fallen asleep. Shaw had been far too tired for anything more than that. But it didn’t matter. It was good, even, that they weren’t rushing into things.

Root tried to move, discovered strong arms wrapped around her, Shaw pressed up against her back. She smiled and could tell by her breathing that Shaw was awake, even if she did grunt in annoyance at the disturbance.

“Stop moving,” Shaw muttered.

“Why?” said Root.

Shaw hummed in response and a moment later added, “Sleep.”

“No. I meant, why are you...”

Shaw sighed, perhaps in annoyance, Root wasn’t sure. But she didn’t loosen her grip. In fact, she seemed to hold onto Root tighter.

“You were thrashing in your sleep,” Shaw murmured. Her breath danced along Root’s neck and she struggled not to shiver. “This seemed to calm you down.”

“Oh,” said Root.

“Nightmare?” Shaw asked.

Root nodded and shifted until they were face to face. Shaw may have been acting like she was still half asleep, but her eyes were sharp, watching Root carefully, searching for the doubts Root knew she still had somewhere deep down. She didn’t let them show and, as she leaned forward to press her lips softly against Shaw’s, she chased them away for another day.

“Did I fall asleep on you?” said Shaw.

“You did,” said Root softly, “but it’s okay.”

And it really was. Just having Shaw here was enough. It always had been. Root just didn’t know it.

“How did you sleep?” Root asked. It wasn’t awkward, this small talk, she found and wondered if it was the same for Shaw. But she was still as she stared at Root, calm. There was no urge in her eyes to run away.

“Good,” said Shaw. “Great actually. That couch wasn’t good for my back.”

“Getting old, huh?” Root teased and Shaw’s features curved it to that familiar scowl that she loved.

“You try sleeping on it for a month,” Shaw grumbled. “See how well you cope.”

“No thanks,” said Root. She kissed Shaw again, slow at first. Testing the waters. But Shaw kissed her back like she had been waiting for this, and in a way she had been. Ever since Shaw had come back from Moscow she had been waiting for this. Waiting for Root.

 _You have me now_ , Root thought. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. She would stay here all day and forever if she could.

But this was Bishop, Texas and here forever was a lifetime. Sam Groves’ lifetime. She couldn’t run from it and maybe Shaw knew that too. That her past would continue to haunt her as long as she stayed here.

None of it seemed to matter, though, with Shaw’s lips against hers. It was familiar and safe, like the scent of Shaw’s hair, everything that she was. It reminded Root of the home she didn’t have and, she thought, as long as Shaw was there to stand by her side, it didn’t matter where they were, New York or Bishop or anywhere else, they were together and they would be okay.

They had to be.

Root certainly felt okay. More than okay. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time and soon found herself swept up in the feel of Shaw against her, beneath her. Without realising it, she had straddled Shaw’s waist, deepening the kiss until the sounds of their breathing filled her ears alongside the blood rushing in her veins. Shaw’s hands, course and firm, roamed beneath her tank top. They were warm, tracing random patterns across Root’s skin that left her trembling.

“Root,” Shaw murmured against her mouth. “Are you…”

Root stilled, rested her forehead against Shaw’s. “No. I mean… we should take this slow.”

“Right,” said Shaw. She was still breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands felt like they were scalding Root’s skin as she held her close, but Root made no move to shake her off. “I can do slow.”

Smirking, Root said, “Slow can even be nice.”

Shaw rolled her eyes and Root was sure the groan out of her mouth was exaggerated.

“Thought hard and fast was more your kind of thing,” said Shaw, playing along despite herself apparently.

Root grinned. “Oh, Sameen. _Still_ so much to learn.”

“Whatever,” Shaw muttered and kissed Root to shut her up; slowly, perhaps to prove her point. When she pulled away, her face was serious. Those hard lines of concentration that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to rush this.”

Root took that to mean, _I don’t want to ruin this._

 _Oh, Sameen,_ Root thought. _You won’t._

She couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t managed that all by herself. But she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try to make this work. In a way, this was their last chance. And Root was sure they both knew it.

“We have time,” Shaw continued.

Root stiffened. Time in Bishop was different to everywhere else. Days could last a lifetime. Lives could be extinguished in the blink of an eye. Root couldn’t be sure anymore which one was more relevant to her now.

“We do,” she said and felt like she was lying. It left her mouth tasting sour and when Shaw leaned up to kiss her again, she let her without protest despite the fear clouding her head. She kissed Shaw hard until it went away, but no matter how hard she tried, it would not leave her.

“Uh, Root,” said Shaw, finally pulling away. She looked embarrassed, Root thought, her cheeks slightly pink. A nice contrast to her swollen lips.

“What?” said Root. She tried to kiss her again, but Shaw held her at bay with strong hands on her upper arms and a hard look in her eye.

“Slow is great and all,” Shaw said, “but, um…”

Root raised an eyebrow, amusement quirking her lips into a grin.

“But…” said Root, dragging the word out with a glee that caused Shaw’s eyes to roll.

“If you keep kissing me like that and, uh…”

“Yes?” said Root.

Shaw sighed. “Do you have any idea how hot you look right now?”

Grinning, Root said, “Finding me irresistible, huh?”

Shaw groaned and closed her eyes like she was in pain. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope,” said Root.

*

They weren’t dating in the normal sense of the word, but their relationship was noticeably different from the last time they had tried it. They were slow, tentative around each other. Neither of them were inclined to rush things. They continued their little lunch dates and, at home in front of Gen, they pretended things were normal, that nothing had changed.

But for Shaw, everything had. And not just with Root.

Now that she knew about the Machine’s ability to assume a voice, it took it upon itself to talk to Shaw. It wanted something, Shaw was sure. Something she hadn’t quite been able to work out yet. Shaw refused to give it anything and whenever it called, sounding like Finch, Shaw didn’t even give it time to explain itself, hanging up almost immediately when she realised it was the Machine.

Nothing about the whole situation sat right with Shaw, but it was the Machine’s reasons for keeping this from Root that bothered her most of all. She had her own reasons for not wanting to keep this a secret. From experience, she knew what keeping secrets between them would do. They had both done it; Root with her secret search for the ghost before they found out it was Jason and then Shaw with her mission to kill Gen’s father in Moscow. The truth, if they had both been aware of it, would have changed everything. Perhaps Diazo would still be alive right now, they wouldn’t be hiding in Bishop from the Russian Bratva. They might never have spent all that time apart.

The truth, even as it burned a hole in Shaw’s chest, wasn’t easy for her to convey. There never seemed to be a right time. One or both of them were tired from work, in a bad mood. Or Gen would be too close, always observing despite her best attempts at hiding it.

But Shaw knew it wasn’t just that. She liked this new dynamic she had found with Root. It was _easy_. They were good together, happy even. Something Shaw hadn’t seen from Root in a long time. But she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that easy didn’t come with a price. It could only last so long. Shaw just wasn’t sure which of them would crack first.

None of that mattered, however, when Root kissed her. And although they rarely went beyond that – Shaw hadn’t even gotten to second base yet – she was satisfied, they both were, with taking it slow.

They made out like teenagers; on the couch, in the car, whenever they were alone. There was a thrill they both felt in hiding it from Gen, from all of Bishop. It wasn’t so much the secretiveness of it, but that it was _theirs_ and by that means, no one could take it away from them. Not this time. Not ever.

“Morning,” Root muttered, when she found Shaw in the kitchen making coffee. Gone was the tentativeness they had both felt when this first started and Root kissed her neck, her arms encircling Shaw’s waist like they did this every day, a thousand times before.

“You mean afternoon,” Shaw muttered. She used making the coffee as an excuse to let Root stay where she was and tried not to think about how, a long time ago, the mere thought of Root being so close would be suffocating. Now, Shaw found the warmth of Root’s skin comforting, despite the Texas heat that couldn’t be chased away by the breeze coming through the open windows.

Shaw felt Root shrug, felt teeth nibble at her earlobe before Root pulled away.

“Whatever,” said Root, stealing the mug of coffee that was halfway to Shaw’s mouth. “It’s Sunday. I’m allowed to sleep in.”

“Because staying up until three am on your laptop had nothing to do with it,” said Shaw, glowering as her coffee made its way down Root’s throat. She considered snatching it back, imagining how she would smirk at the pout that would surely form on Root’s face. But she was tired and grouchy and instead reached for a second mug without comment about Root stealing her first one.

“It was two am, actually,” said Root. She was grinning now. “But thanks for staying up for me.”

Shaw scowled. “I didn’t.”

“Liar,” Root muttered, kissing Shaw briefly. Shaw could taste the coffee on her lips and scowled some more.

“I’m not,” Shaw protested. “It’s hardly my fault you make so much noise.”

“I thought you liked it when I got loud,” said Root and winked.

Shaw rolled her eyes and when she volunteered no witty comeback, Root went silent.

Despite doing nothing more than the very lengthy and heated make out sessions, Root’s innuendos were as rampant as ever; like she had been saving them up for the past year and a half, waiting to unleash them all on an unsuspecting Shaw. They didn’t embarrass her, unnerve her, like Root had first intended them to do all that time ago before they had gotten together the first time. Before Samaritan. It was the sense of building frustration that they instilled in Shaw that was starting to get to her. It was quiet now, but before long, Shaw knew it would get worse. She had been patient for far too long and now her limits were being tested on a daily basis.

They had both agreed to take it slow and perhaps Root’s reasons for that were different from Shaw’s, more complex, but Shaw was willing to wait. She wasn’t about to screw this up again by pushing Root too hard. So she let Root set the pace, took the innuendos, the flirting, and used it to remind herself of how good they had been and how good they _could_ be.

“What are your plans for today?” Shaw asked. She sipped at her coffee. It wasn’t too late in the afternoon that a trip up to Corpus Christi would be wasted. And she didn’t mind all that much if Gen tagged along. It had been a while since the three of them had done something together other than attend a meeting with Gen’s principal.

“Work,” said Root. “I have some things to finish up.”

Shaw frowned. “Isn’t that why you stayed up so late?”

“No,” said Root. “That was my little side project.”

“Side project?”

Root nodded and drank more coffee. Shaw suspected she was buying herself time, avoiding the question. She could hardly avoid Shaw’s gaze and eventually she sighed, placed the coffee mug on the counter and leaned back against it.

“There’s a hacker somewhere in Bishop that I’m trying to trip up,” Root explained. “Tweaking the firewall again took longer than I thought.”

“Hacker?” said Shaw. The frown deepened on her face. She didn’t like the sound of this at all.

“Yeah,” said Root. “I’m pretty sure it’s a student but I can’t be certain.” She shrugged. “It’s been kinda fun messing with them.”

“How do you know?” said Shaw. Suddenly the coffee became too bitter for her tastes and she poured her near full mug down the sink. “I mean, how do you know it’s a kid?”

Root shrugged. An easy smile played at her lips. “Just a feeling I had.”

Turning back to the sink, Shaw made a display of rinsing out her mug. But that wasn’t what she was doing. She didn’t want Root to see the unease on her face. No matter how good she was at hiding these things, Root knew her too well. And this – this hacker whoever they were – didn’t sit well with Shaw at all.

She had her suspicions. Well-founded ones. The Machine had manipulated them so much already that Shaw wouldn’t put it past the damn thing to be playing Root with this supposed hacker too.

For now, she kept her concerns to herself. How could she even possibly begin to broach the subject of the Machine pretending to be a hacker? To do… what? What could the Machine possibly hope to achieve? Manipulate Root some more? Play games? It didn’t matter. Shaw’s distrust for the Machine grew in those few seconds in the kitchen as she stared at the leaky faucet over the sink.

“I keep meaning to call a plumber,” said Root, noticing what Shaw was staring at. She was behind Shaw now, leaning in close as she placed her own mug in the sink. “It’s been like that since we moved in.”

“It’s okay,” said Shaw, forcing her face into a neutral expression before turning to face Root. “I can fix it.”

Root shot her a sceptical look that quickly turned into a smirk. “Gardening and plumbing? Who knew you were so good at manual labour.”

Shaw didn’t think it was possible for someone to look so turned on, but when it came to Root it was hardly surprising.

“What are you doing?” said Shaw, when Root shot her a positively lascivious look.

Coughing slightly, Root said, “Oh, um… just imagining those arms… labouring.”

“Right,” said Shaw and was glad the godawful heat in this state allowed for her excessive wear of tank tops. Just as Shaw was considering flexing those muscles of hers – it would make a nice change to be the one doing the teasing for once – Root stepped away from her. Without thinking, Shaw grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Work,” said Root, grinning as she pressed herself up against Shaw.

“Can’t you work here?” Shaw muttered. “It’s Sunday.”

Root considered her for a moment. “I could, but there are _far_ too many distractions.”

“Oh yeah?” said Shaw. “Like what?”

“You,” Root muttered softly and kissed her. This time it wasn’t brief; the kiss as hot as the sun glaring down on Texas. The counter dug uncomfortably into Shaw’s back as Root pressed her against it and her skin seemed to spark with static electricity wherever Root touched her.

Shaw wasn’t sure what alerted Root; perhaps the Machine or the sounds of Gen thudding down the stairs that Shaw couldn’t hear over the sound of rushing blood in her ears, but Root abruptly moved away from her, wiping at her mouth and trying to look casual as she leaned against the counter as far away from Shaw as possible. A moment later, Gen barged into the kitchen, not paying either of them any attention as she headed straight for the fridge. Shaw was glad; she was sure her breathing would give them both away and, apart from the pinkness tinging her cheeks, Root appeared perfectly calm, normal.

“How’s the studying going, kiddo?” Root asked.

Gen shrugged with her head still inside the fridge. “Boring.”

When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Root rolled her eyes, smirked at Shaw and said, “Well, I guess I should go get to work.”

“Yeah, good idea,” said Shaw and knew by Root’s grin that her voice didn’t sound as normal as she would have liked. It wasn’t until Root was gone that Shaw felt like she could breathe again.

“I know what you’re doing,” said Gen. The refrigerator door slammed shut with enough force to make the thing shake.

“Huh?” said Shaw. She had turned back to the sink, picked up one of the mugs to dry it with a dish towel, but now she turned back to face Gen again. “What do you mean?”

The cold, hard stare on Gen’s face surprised Shaw and she could only blink at her for a moment, unsure what to do.

“You and Root,” said Gen. “I’m not stupid. I know that you’re… whatever. Back together.”

“Oh,” said Shaw. “Okay.”

“No, it’s not okay,” said Gen with more venom than Shaw expected. Although, she wasn’t sure what she _had_ expected. For Gen to be happy for them? Indifferent like she was with most things? Anything but this anger she was directing at Shaw.

“Gen,” Shaw began.

“You know you’re only going to hurt again, don’t you?” said Gen coldly. “And this time she won’t be able to take it.”

Shaw said nothing. There was nothing _to_ say. Gen was right. It didn’t matter how deep down Shaw buried the knowledge, it was inevitable that she would hurt Root again – and Gen too – in the end. It didn’t matter how much Shaw wanted Root or how much Root wanted Shaw, eventually, Shaw would do what she always did. Because she could never be enough for Root, could never be what Root needed or wanted.

They both knew it; Root wasn’t naïve, but they had both gotten so caught up in this, in the thrill of how new it felt, that maybe they hadn’t thought it through properly.

Shaw certainly hadn’t. Ever since leaving New York or, perhaps even before that in Moscow, she had been focused on one thing only. On getting Root back regardless of the consequences. Never mind all the reasons for why they had never worked the first time. Shaw hadn’t wanted to think about them.

Now she couldn’t stop.

*

It took Root longer than she had been expecting to finish up. It was hard to concentrate in the stifling heat of her office but at least she was free of distractions.

Well… mostly anyway.

Her mind had other ideas and she caught herself thinking about Shaw and those arms of hers for a full five minutes before she realised she was practically drooling, alone, in her office. Shaking herself out of it, Root forced herself to get back to work. But there was a smile on her face as she did it, a feeling of contentment at the thought that there was someone waiting for her at home.

Dusk was falling by the time she got back to the house. Tiredness itched at her eyes and hunger made her stomach growl. She hoped Shaw hadn’t waited to make dinner, that there was a plate waiting for her, warming in the oven. But when she let herself inside, Shaw wasn’t in the kitchen – the one room in the house Root had started to associate as Shaw’s – she was on the couch, glaring at the TV. But it wasn’t Shaw’s obvious bad mood that bothered Root. It was the pillows, the blankets, that Shaw had been using for weeks to make her makeshift bed on the couch, that were now sitting beside Shaw, ready to use. The past few days, since Root had made her decision about Shaw to try this thing between them again despite how scary it was, those pillows and blankets had rested in a corner of the room, untouched.

It was clear what this meant.

Root felt her heart sink but it didn’t break completely. Her anger kept it together, like glue holding the pieces of broken glass in place.

“What’s going on?”

She was calm as she set her bag on the floor by the couch. Her eyes never left Shaw and she watched as the muscles in her neck and shoulders stiffened.

“Gen knows,” said Shaw. “About you and me.”

“Yeah, so?” said Root. She knew that Gen would figure it out eventually. In fact she had been expecting it sooner.

“So,” said Shaw. “I just think… Maybe it’s best if I stay on the couch for a while.”

“No,” said Root so adamantly that Shaw finally turned to face her. “What did she say to you?”

Shaw shrugged and Root didn’t need her to say it, didn’t need what they both already knew confirmed. Those doubts that Shaw would always have, the ones that chased her away the first time, were still there and they always would be.

But none of that mattered to Root. She knew who Shaw was, could map every part of her in her mind in so much detail that she could almost trace it with her fingertips. Shaw was different, wasn’t normal. None of them were and none of it mattered to Root. Despite everything, she knew and loved every part of Sameen Shaw.

She was done fighting it.

“Does it matter?” said Shaw. “She had a point though. Maybe it’s best if we –”

“No,” Root said again, moving towards the stairs.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to talk to Gen,” said Root. She paused, turned to face Shaw with a hard look on her face. “And you’re going to put that,” she gestured at the pillows and blankets on the couch beside Shaw, “away somewhere where I can’t see it. Since when do you let a teenager tell you what to do?”

“Root…”

“Now,” Root barked.

“Alright, geez,” said Shaw climbing to her feet and doing as she was told.

Root was seething as she stomped up the stairs, but as she heard Shaw following behind her some of the anger left her and by the time she reached Gen’s room she was calm again, rational. She knocked on the door.

“I’m busy,” Gen called. Root went in anyway, ignoring the glower on Gen’s face. She was sitting on her bed, with her chemistry textbook on her lap and surrounded by pages of handwritten notes.

“I need to talk to you for a second,” said Root. Without asking, she moved some of the pages aside so she could sit on the bed beside her.

“My make-up test is tomorrow,” Gen complained.

“I know,” said Root, “but this will only take a second.”

Although she couldn’t see her, Root knew Shaw was hovering in the hallway, listening. _Good_ , Root thought, _maybe she needs to hear this too._

“I know you know about me and Shaw,” Root began. Gen shrugged and started rolling the corner of her textbook page between her fingers. “I know what you must think.”

“No you don’t,” said Gen.

“Oh really?” said Root, raising her eyebrow sceptically. “So you don’t think Shaw is going to leave me one day and break my heart?”

“No,” said Gen quickly. “Okay maybe. Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes,” said Root, “we do.”

Gen sighed and slammed her textbook closed with a bang. “I was only pointing out the truth. She did it before. And you’re…”

“I’m what?” said Root. There were so many answers to that and Root felt her heartbeat quickening. Her head spun from it.

Gen shrugged. “You’ve been hurt enough.”

“I’m a big girl,” said Root. “I can take it.”

“Can you?” said Gen sceptically.

They both went silent for a moment. Root wondered if Shaw was still listening from the hall. She hoped so. She hoped her trust, her _faith_ , in Shaw wasn’t misplaced. That she wouldn’t leave this room to find Shaw gone for good in some erroneous belief that she was doing the right thing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Root said eventually. “If she… It doesn’t matter.” Root swallowed, recalling those few days after she had woken up with a weak heart and a gunshot wound in her leg. The safe house had been far too quiet for her liking. The Machine too. But Shaw had been there, had taken care of her, saved her life.

Until it felt like it was ending when Shaw ended things and walked away from her.

So much had happened since then. So much loss and pain. It made the shattering of her heart seem so insignificant.

“I know what I’m doing,” said Root. “And yeah it might hurt. Or it might not. But it’s my choice. And I choose her.”

“But,” Gen began and said nothing more. How could she when Root was so convinced? If there was heartache in her future, she would take it. Because it couldn’t be any worse than what she had already been through.

“I do, however, appreciate you looking out for me,” said Root. “Even if it wasn’t necessary.”

“Well someone has to,” Gen muttered. “It’s just you and me, remember?”

Root smiled. “I do, although it hasn’t felt like that for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gen. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” Root said quickly. The blame didn’t entirely fall on Gen anyway. Root was the grown up here, but she had been acting anything but recently. She could hardly fault Gen for acting like a moody teenager. That was exactly what she was supposed to be. “But it isn’t just the two of us anymore.”

“I know,” said Gen. “But for how long?”

The smile on Root’s face faltered. She didn’t have an answer for Gen, or for herself. But she understood now, why Gen often acted like the world was against her. In a way it was, how could it not when you had the Russian mafia looking for you? Except it wasn’t just that. It was everything. Gen was so young and yet sometimes she could see things way beyond her years. It was a wisdom that could only come from the experience of a hard life that was only getting more and more difficult. Gen had spent her entire life moving from home to home, guardian to guardian. People either left her or died.

_Or some even came back._

Root did. And she wasn’t about to leave again. Not any time soon if she could help it.

She couldn’t speak for Shaw, but she had proved herself in the weeks since she arrived in Bishop. Root had pushed Shaw well beyond her usual limits and she had stuck around and took it, more patient than Root had ever imagined she could be.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Root promised. For the first time in a long time, Gen let Root pull her into a hug. Gently, Root kissed the top of Gen’s head. She’d missed this, how close they had been. “Don’t stay up too late studying, kiddo.”

“I won’t,” Gen promised.

Out in the hall, Root found Shaw leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face that was too deep to be real.

“You heard all that?” said Root.

Shaw nodded. “Root –”

“I’m not some naïve schoolgirl with a crush,” said Root. “I know you. I know that some days you’re going to be distant, cold… like you want nothing to do with me. And, some days… you’ll find me irresistible.”

Root grinned and the eye roll she received was the equivalent of a smile back when it came to Shaw. It was the ice breaker Root needed to step closer and when Shaw didn’t bolt away, when her lips twitched in a way that told Root she was attempting to suppress a smile, Root knew that Shaw had gotten rid of whatever ridiculous notion she had about ending this thing before it even got started again.

“So…” said Root. She brought her lips so close to Shaw’s that they were almost touching, nothing but a miniscule layer of air between them. “Still planning on sleeping on the couch?”

“Nah,” Shaw muttered. “Still pretty sure it’s your turn.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Root murmured and kissed her.

 


	40. Part 3: Chapter 40

Catcalls and whistling followed Shaw down the hallway. She rolled her eyes and ignored them, wondering how Root could stand to be around this much bubbling testosterone every day. There was a distinct teenage boy smell to the place too that had Shaw crinkling her nose up in disgust. She was glad when she reached Root’s office. As small and stifling as it was, at least it didn’t smell.

“Hey,” said Root. “I thought I was meeting you in the park.”

“I changed my mind,” said Shaw, trapping Root between herself and the desk.

“Oh?” said Root. A grin formed on her face. “Any reason why?”

“Yeah,” said Shaw and brought her mouth close to Root’s. “To do this.”

Caught off guard, it took Root a few seconds to kiss her back; but when she did it was eager and hungry, her touch sending fire across Shaw’s skin.

“This isn’t what I had in mind for lunch,” Root murmured, as she pulled away. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Shaw grunted and let Root slip past her to move around to the other side of her desk. “Actually, I came here to tell you something.”

“Oh,” said Root, pouting with disappointment. “And here I was thinking you just couldn’t get enough of me.” She grinned, but it quickly disappeared when Shaw didn’t respond and turned into a sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Shaw said quickly. It wasn’t a lie, not really, but she had been putting this conversation off for so long that she wasn’t sure where to begin.

It had been nagging her for days, like a persistent itch that wouldn't go away. She had played the scene so many times in her head, thought of every scenario and how she would respond if Root got angry, sad, if she walked away and never came back... Unable to predict, exactly, how Root would react caused Shaw to hesitate even more. She could ruin everything by speaking up, yet do the same if she remained quiet.

"I, um... the Machine…" Shaw began and cleared her throat when no words came to her. Instead she occupied herself with examining the shelves lining the office walls. She took a cable from the one in front of her and began threading it between her fingers. "Look, I don't-"

"If this is about the Machine talking to you," Root interrupted, "you can relax."

Shaw stiffened and stared. "You know?"

Root shrugged. "You looked freaked out even before we got back together. What else could it have been?"

"Oh," said Shaw. This wasn't the reaction she had been expecting. She hadn't planned a response for this. "You're not mad or...?"

Quiet for a moment, Root stared at something on her computer screen that Shaw couldn't see. "No, I'm not mad. Just a little sad I guess."

"The Machine thought you would be jealous."

Root shrugged but didn't deny it. Although there was nothing, in Shaw’s opinion, to be jealous about. She didn't want to talk to the Machine and told Root just that.

"Is that because you don't like what She has to say?" asked Root.

"Maybe," said Shaw. "Or the way that She says it."

Root smirked briefly. "She did the voice thing with you, didn't She?"

Shaw's eyes narrowed and she wondered if the Machine was talking to Root now, telling her everything. But Root's relationship with the Machine was so complex Shaw couldn't even begin to understand it, predict how and when they interacted. If anyone could guess the Machine’s motives, anticipate what it would do, it was Root. It was just the rest of them that were left wondering.

"I thought I was talking to Finch," Shaw muttered bitterly. "For weeks."

A sad smile formed on Root's lips. "It could have been worse."

_Yeah_ , Shaw thought and it was, briefly. She tried not to think too much about the voices of the dead the Machine had assumed. The voice of her father still echoed in her ears, chilling Shaw in a way she would have never of imagined.

She almost shivered in Root’s office then. But instead she clenched her jaw, stared at the floor and didn’t look up until Root started speaking again.

"She means well," said Root, but she looked doubtful as she said it.

"You really believe that?" said Shaw. "It doesn't bother you that the Machine brought you here?"

“Okay, maybe a little,” Root confessed. “But She has her reasons.”

“What reasons?” She had forgotten she was still holding the cable, gripping it tightly as she pulled it taut between her hands, until Root came over and took it from her gently.

“Good ones,” said Root, wrapping the cable up and putting it back on the shelf. “I may not like them, but… She sees things. Understands things.”

“It’s a machine, Root,” said Shaw. She was beginning to sound like Finch, she noted bitterly, but couldn’t even begin to shake her concerns. “You make it sound like it can psychoanalyse people.”

“She can, in a way,” said Root. At Shaw’s scowl, she quickly changed the subject and Shaw let her. For now. “Come on, let’s have lunch. It’s on me.”

Root looped her arm through Shaw’s and pulled her towards the door. Reluctantly, Shaw followed, and as soon as they were out in the hallway, she tugged herself out of Root’s grip before anyone could see them.

“So, um…” said Shaw. “When the Machine talks to you… it doesn’t sound like Finch, right?”

“Why do you ask?” said Root, smiling through her confusion.

Shaw shrugged, masking the shiver that ran up her spine at the memory of _that_ voice, low and husky and sexy and –

“Why are you deflecting?”

“I’m not,” said Root. “She uses a few different ones.”

Shaw decided not to think about the implications behind that. But of course Root liked a bit of variety. Especially when it came to the bedroom… Shaw shook her head.

“So She doesn’t sound like someone trying to make you pay an obscene amount of money just to listen to them describe what they’re wearing?”

Annoyingly, Root grinned.

“One thing you need to know about the Machine, Shaw,” she said. “Is that she has one hell of a sense of humour.”

Shaw frowned. “Was that a yes or a no?”

Root laughed in response and Shaw decided she really, _really_ , didn’t want to know.

“So where are we going?” Shaw asked. The Mexican place was still out and the only other places in town were the Dairy Queen and the diner Shaw didn’t like the look of and would rather not tempt fate with after treating several cases of food poisoning last week – that may or may not have had that particular place in common.

“You’ll see,” said Root. She turned a corner that was not their usual route to the nearest exit and Shaw frowned. “I’ll meet you outside,” Root called over her shoulder.

Shaw stared after her for a moment before heading outside. It was a bright day and Shaw cursed under her breath for leaving her sunglasses in the car and ended up squinting uncomfortably as she hovered by the front entrance. She could see Gen’s school from here, but the junior high had a different schedule and lunch would be nearly over for them by now. Not that Gen would join them in a million years. She was becoming more and more reclusive every day. Shaw wasn’t sure if it was normal or something they should be worried about. Neither she nor Root were experts at this. They were amateurs floundering along, making it up as they went.

_Maybe the Machine will tell us_ , Shaw thought bitterly. It seemed to be interfering with everything else, so why not this too.

Still, Root seemed to trust it. She may not like what the Machine was doing, how it was doing it, but she was going along with it. Albeit, a little reluctantly.

Blind faith.

That was what Root and the Machine were asking of her. Shaw wasn’t sure she could give it, was even _less_ sure that Root had her eyes wide open and could see everything. So if she couldn’t, and Shaw followed, then how could she even begin to hope to protect them all if the Machine went haywire?

She couldn’t and her distrust of the Machine expanded until it was strained to a point where Shaw was sure she would never come back from it.

“I love how I can just skip the queue now,” Root said when she finally appeared. “I was always last in line when I was a kid.”

“Cafeteria food,” said Shaw, unimpressed when Root handed her something wrapped tight in aluminium foil. “Are you kidding me?”

“You know how you were whining about missing your favourite hot dog stand in Brooklyn?” said Root as Shaw began to unwrap her food. She wasn’t surprised to find the hot dog and slightly soggy bun.

“Coming from a high school cafeteria,” Shaw complained, “I dread to think what’s in it.”

“Oh sure,” said Root sarcastically, “because the stand on the corner of 7th Avenue is such high end cuisine.”

Shaw scowled, turned her nose up at the food. It smelled good, but her common sense was telling her not to eat it.

“They’re pretty good, actually,” said Root, biting into her own. “Just try it.”

“Fine,” Shaw grumbled. She took a bite. The taste wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She tried not to let it show, but caught the smug expression on Root’s face anyway.

Eating as they walked, Shaw and Root headed towards the park. Shaw was starting to enjoy the silence when Root suddenly started giggling beside her.

“What?” said Shaw, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing,” said Root. She tried to suppress a smile, but only started laughing again.

“How is that nothing?” Shaw said, annoyed. She wondered if she had dripped food onto her shirt or had something stuck in her teeth, but was even more irritated to find out that it was just the Machine, whispering things in Root’s ear. “Thought you guys weren’t talking,” Shaw grumbled.

Root shrugged. “Not like we used to.”

That same sadness from before in her office fell across Root’s face again.

“What did She say that was so funny?” asked Shaw. She got the feeling it had something to do with her and the curiosity wouldn’t leave her.

“Oh, just… did you know you’ve had four hundred and fifty six hot dogs from stands in New York in the past five years?”

Shaw frowned. “Seriously? The Machine keeps track of stuff like that?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Root. “She keeps track of everything. It’s how She understands people.”

Shaw scoffed at that. “How can a machine possibly –”

Root sighed loudly. “She has to. It’s the only way She could possibly ever predict if someone is going to commit a crime. She has to understand humanity, _care_ about them, to do that.”

“You really think the Machine cares?” asked Shaw. She still had half her hot dog left, but suddenly didn’t want to eat any more of it. This conversation was leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

“Yes,” said Root with more conviction than Shaw had ever heard.

“You say that… you talk about the Machine as if it’s a person,” said Shaw.

“She is, in a way,” said Root. She paused for a moment in the middle of the street, pursing her lips in thought. “The Machine… She’s self-aware. She can think for herself, make choices. Choices that have consequences and ones She is willing to accept. She cares about people. You, me… Harold. How is that anything different from other people?”

“Because people aren’t made of wires and plastic and –”

“And what? You have to be flesh and blood?” said Root. “So by that definition, a cow, a horse… they’re people?”

“No,” said Shaw sullenly. She was losing this argument. Badly. “The Machine doesn’t feel bad when it screws up. It doesn’t –”

“Do _you_?” said Root. And there it was. The one question she had been hoping to avoid.

Ever since her conversation with the Machine, Shaw couldn’t shake the similarity. She didn’t know what it meant, about her or the Machine. Thinking about it as a machine, as plastic and wires and electrical impulses was easier than believing they had anything in common.

“People aren’t so easily categorised, Sameen,” Root continued. “You know that better than anyone. The Machine is no different. She’s not just a computer or a machine. She’s an intelligence, forever evolving. For example,” Root added, “today she learned that humans can be sad, but also very happy at the same time.”

She smiled and glanced at Shaw pointedly.

“I make you happy?” said Shaw.

“You’re surprised?”

Shaw shrugged, but was pleased all the same. A few moments later she frowned. “Why are you sad?”

As she expected, Root didn’t answer her. There were still secrets to hold on to, it seemed, and whether it was to do with the Machine or Bishop or something else, Shaw didn’t know. She didn’t push either, out of fear that it would shut Root down and drive her away. All their interactions lately took place on glass so thin it was already cracked, and Shaw could never be sure which way to step, which pressure point would be the one to break it for good, shatter it into a thousand tiny pieces that could never be put back together again.

“Well, I still don’t trust it,” said Shaw with finality. She got the feeling this was something they would never agree on, no matter how many cryptic conversations Shaw had with the Machine. She didn’t _want_ to trust it, to view it as Root did. One of them had to remain rational, vigilant. And if it had to be her, then so be it.

They reached the park and Shaw took another bite of her hotdog. It had gone cold and was even more inedible than before.

“How do you eat this stuff?” Shaw grumbled.

Root shrugged. “I’m used to it.” But she too seemed to have lost a taste for it, tossing half of it away uneaten. Shaw wondered if it was because it tasted so bad to her too or if their conversation had driven her appetite away. At least it hadn’t developed into a full blown argument, but Shaw added it to her list of topics to avoid if she wanted things with Root to keep going smoothly.

That wouldn’t last, she knew, eventually they would argue; about the Machine, or worse. It was unavoidable and Shaw suspected they both knew it.

For now they were both careful and Shaw decided just to enjoy the days as the came. Which weren’t so bad, she thought, despite the hot dog churning in her stomach and her head starting to hurt from squinting so much in the sun. Not enough so she couldn’t see and Shaw’s nerve endings lit with annoyance as she spotted someone across the park waving at them furiously.

“Awh, crap,” Shaw muttered and came to an abrupt halt.

“What is it?” said Root. “Is your stomach starting to cramp from the hot dog too?”

“No,” said Shaw with a frown. “And also: gross. I meant _that._ ” She gestured in the direction of the waving woman, who was making her way over to them now, making it completely unavoidable for Root to see her.

“Who’s that?” said Root, squinting at the old woman. Shaw didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes would be filled with curiosity and amusement alike.

“Doctor Grey! Sam,” said the woman, breathless as she neared.

_Sam_ , Root mouthed and then grinned widely.

“Don’t,” Shaw muttered out of the corner of her mouth. She didn’t quite manage a smile, but she at least hoped her face had become less hostile as she turned to greet Betty Gibbs. “Mrs Gibbs?”

“Hello, dear,” said Betty Gibbs, practically wheezing now and half bent over from her near sprint across the park. “I thought it was you. Such a rare thing, seeing you out of the clinic.”

Not knowing how to respond, Shaw could only shrug. She spotted Root smirking out of the corner of her eye and, grateful for once for Mrs Gibbs’ prattling, she elbowed Root in the ribs. Hard. Mrs Gibbs was none the wiser and only stopped midsentence when Root let out an undignified yelp and shot Shaw a scowl.

“And who’s this?” Mrs Gibbs asked, eyeing Root up and down with a glint in her eye that was both appreciative and scrutinising.

“Uh,” said Shaw. “This is my friend, um…”

“Call me Root,” said Root warmly and offered her hand to Betty Gibbs.

The old woman shook it vigorously and turned to Shaw with a wink. “Friend, huh?”

Stiffening, Shaw didn’t need to look to know Root was enjoying every second of this.

“Well I’ll leave you two girls to it,” said Mrs Gibbs. “And I’ll see you at my next appointment, Doctor Grey?”

Shaw could only nod and made a mental note to reschedule that particular appointment for some time in the next decade. She flinched as Betty Gibbs rubbed her bare arm in response and squeezed between her and Root to exit the park. There was something about having the old woman brush up against her that made Shaw shudder.

“Don’t,” said Shaw once Betty Gibbs was out of earshot, closing her eyes briefly. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t will away the last three minutes.

“I think she likes you, _Sam_ ,” said Root gleefully. “You never told me one of your patients was crushing on you. Should I be jealous?”

The mock worry lasted on Root’s face for about a second before she grinned with her tongue between her teeth and a sparkle in her eyes.

“Shut up,” Shaw grumbled. “The woman is like a hundred and fifty, don’t even start.”

“Awh, young love,” said Root wistfully.

“Root…” Shaw warned. Her low and threatening voice, the scowl on her face, none of it had any effect on Root. The grin wouldn’t leave her face and Shaw went quiet, strolling ahead of Root towards their usual bench.

“Fine,” Root said when she caught up with her. She had sobered slightly, but Shaw knew she was still enjoying this way too much. “You’re no fun,” she complained. “Also: friend?”

The playful tone was gone. In its place, Shaw thought she could hear a hint of apprehension; but when she looked at Root, her demeanour was as calm and carefree as ever.

“What?” said Shaw with a shrug. “I was trying to be discrete.”

Root snorted. “Please, everyone in this town already knows I’m a big giant gaymo.” She grinned brazenly and Shaw rolled her eyes. “And you’ve been living in my house for the past two months,” Root continued. “I mean they’re stupid, but they’re not _that_ stupid.”

That was the thing Shaw hated most about small towns, she thought with a scowl. Everybody knew everybody else’s business, no matter how careful you were.

“Whatever,” Shaw muttered. “So what am I supposed to call you?”

“I don’t know,” said Root, but Shaw saw the look in her eye and knew she was mulling over options. “Girlfriend?”

Shaw pulled a disgusted face. That made them sound like they were twelve.

“Hm,” said Root. “Partner?” She shook her head. “That sounds too formal and too easy for people to misinterpret.”

_Good_ , Shaw thought. She wasn’t all that fussed what people called them. And if they misread things that meant less of the small mindedness that was associated with small towns from getting in their way.

“What about significant other?” Root suggested. At Shaw’s flat look she added, “Better half?”

Shaw said nothing, but Root had never needed encouragement in the past and she didn’t need any now either.

“Cuter half then?” said Root. Her lips pursed together into a slight pout, her eyes going minutely wider. It made her look a decade younger. It was hard to imagine she had been through the much pain and suffering of the last couple of years when she looked like this. And although it wasn’t a word Shaw would ever use, she was pretty sure “cute” was exactly the look Root was going for at the moment.

“Root,” Shaw warned again, half-heartedly this time.

Pouting deeper – Shaw was annoyed it made her look more adorable than ridiculous and cringed at her use of the word, despite not even having said it out loud – Root took a seat on the empty park bench. She stared up at Shaw, eyelashes fluttering.

“Unless you care about what people think?” said Root. There was that apprehension again. Shaw sighed and sat next to her, closer than she would have normally to prove her point.

“No,” said Shaw. “I just don’t like them knowing my business.”

“Well, that’s fair enough,” said Root. “But it’s not like they know the details.”

“What details?” Shaw muttered bitterly before she could stop herself.

Root stiffened. “Sameen…”

“I’m kidding,” said Shaw quickly, before an argument could start, before they could talk about the one subject they had been avoiding since getting back together. And she was, in a way, kidding. Despite the bitter sound to her voice, the sour taste in her mouth. She nudged Root playfully with her shoulder until the frown left Root’s face. And, for a moment, they allowed themselves to sit out here, on a nice sunny Bishop, Texas day and pretend that they were normal.

That moment seemed to last a lifetime to Shaw and she was content to let Root lean against her side, feel warm and smelling like _her_ Root, mysterious and magnetic.

But, like everything, the moment had to end. Root remembered first who they really were, who they were trying to be and announced she had to get back to work. She dared a kiss from Shaw’s lips, smirking afterwards at the way Shaw glanced around the park to check if anyone was watching them. But they were alone. No one cared.

“Oooh,” said Root suddenly, turning on her heel to face Shaw. Grinning in that way Shaw was always wary of. “How about gal pals?”

Shaw’s eyes narrowed in the face of Root’s smug amusement and it was all she could do to keep the smirk off her own face. Instead, she shook her head, muttered, “Get out of here,” and watched Root walk out of the park with a lightness in her step Shaw didn’t think she had seen since she arrived in Texas.

*

Shaw thought that was the end of it. And Root certainly made no mention of her conversations with the Machine again. Well… not to her anyway and in Shaw’s mind everything was fine. Until, a few days later after their lunch of hot dogs in the park, Shaw left work early after her final appointment of the day cancelled on her at the last minute and walked in on Root, seemingly arguing heatedly with herself. At least, that must have been how it looked to any outsider. But Shaw knew instantly who Root was arguing with and why. And even though she had no idea what the Machine was saying, she heard enough of Root’s side of it to know it was bad.

She wasn’t sure what gave her away. The creak of the front door as Shaw swung it shut; her tired, heavy footsteps on the wooden floor; or maybe even the Machine itself, alerting Root to this second presence in the room. Whatever it was slammed Root’s mouth shut and she swung on a heel to face Shaw, cheeks pink from what Shaw thought must be lingering anger rather than embarrassment over having been walked in on.

But she never explained, never answered Shaw’s questioning look. And Shaw didn’t probe any further. And when Root slipped closer to her, arm slithering around her waist as she pulled Shaw closer to kiss her in welcome home, Shaw almost forgot she had witnessed the argument in the first place.

It wasn’t until later, when she was staring at patient files, bored out of her mind that she remembered. Her brain finally registered just how angry Root had been. She had hid it quickly, but she couldn’t quite mask her trembling hands, flushed face and flashing eyes. And she couldn’t take back the words Shaw had heard.

_I never asked you to interfere. Stay out of it._

Out of what, Shaw wondered. Her suspicions over the Machine’s agenda ran wild and every scenario Shaw’s mind came up with she liked less and less. The Machine had interfered so much already; in its mind, it had manipulated Shaw into coming to Bishop, it arranged jobs for them… for a purpose, a means to an end Shaw was as yet unable to see.

But Root could, she was sure. She was always telling Shaw to trust the Machine, always so sure that her God had a plan. But how was Shaw supposed to put her faith in that when Root herself had practically cut all ties to the Machine?

Curiosity burned so hot that Shaw was sure her skin would be on fire from it. But she couldn’t ask, no matter how much she wanted to. If it made Root so angry already, Shaw didn’t want to push, didn’t want to shift that anger onto herself as she was sure would happen if she brought the subject up.

It was her own, selfish, self-preservation that kept her from asking, that battled her curiosity and won in a knock out. She kept her mouth shut, kept a watchful eye on Root, but as far as she could tell there were no more arguments, no contact from the Machine at all.


	41. Part 3: Chapter 41

The days wore on. Shaw began to get used to her life in Bishop. Having a job, being with Root again, looking after Gen… it all became familiar, like she had been doing it for years rather than months. Some days she woke up surprised to find she wasn’t dreading the day ahead. Other mornings, she wanted nothing more than to pack all their bags and leave.

There were times, more often than she would ever admit out loud, where the longing to be alone, isolate herself was so strong that she would snap at Root and Gen for the littlest of things, be terse with Judy and Madison, grunt at her patients until she was sure they would complain. It didn’t take long for Root to catch on to these moods and Shaw was both grateful and relieved to wake up one Saturday morning to find the house empty after two days spent in a tense, gloomy atmosphere caused by Shaw’s sullen mood.

Root and Gen didn’t return until late. Shaw was already in bed after spending the day to herself and relishing every minute of it. Neither of them said a word, but in the morning, when Shaw’s mood had deterred somewhat, she pressed her lips against Root’s for a lingering kiss and was pretty sure Root heard the unspoken thank you. She thought she heard the _anytime_ in the feel of Root’s touch.

The days when Shaw _wasn’t_ in a sour mood, you could count on Gen to take her place. Perhaps it was stress from all the extra work she was doing to make up her grades, or perhaps just normal teenage hormonal mood swings, but she rarely had a nice word to say to either Root or Shaw.

It was difficult for them all, living together, but somehow Shaw navigated her way through it. She learned to maintain her patience around Gen so as not to lose her temper, worked out how to be with Root without pushing her away. She felt like she would at any moment and closed herself off. But Root would always see, would always tease her out of it with a kiss or a stupid joke and Shaw would always be put at ease.

She did wonder sometimes, if Root had similar concerns. If she was being careful around Shaw too in case she went too far and set back all the progress they had made. But Shaw couldn’t imagine anything she could do that would change it all now. She supposed that she could, if she really wanted to. But sometimes it was best not to know and in the darkness they had only each other and for Shaw, she would rather that over blinding light and everything exposed.

The thing Shaw was finding the most difficult to get used to was sharing a bed again. She had spent so long on the couch and then back in New York it had only been her, that sharing a space again was a complicated manoeuvre all on its own.

Root was utterly and completely disorganised and Shaw struggled daily not to let her disgust show.

She had squandered some wardrobe space and a few drawers for her own belongings – not that she had much – and endeavoured to make it as neat as possible. A difficult challenge considering Root’s mess spread like a disease across the entire room. And it seemed to happen within a matter of minutes. Shaw would leave the room to go brush her teeth and come back to find drawers open with underwear spilling out and dirty laundry on the floor – never in one neat pile, oh no. Root had to make sure it covered absolutely every inch of the bedroom so Shaw had to sidestep it like an obstacle course. Of course, mentioning that had only put a grin on Root’s face and, “I’m just making sure to keep those reflexes of yours well trained.”

Shaw never could work out if Root was doing it on purpose or not and eventually Shaw gave up trying to make the place stay tidy.

But on that Sunday afternoon, after having spent most of the day helping Gen study, Shaw’s irritation flared at the mess when she walked in and she began to gather up the abandoned clothes on the floor belonging to Root, ignoring Root’s protests of, “Hey, those are clean,” from the bed and shoved them into the laundry basket. Root was pouting at her by the time she was finished, the book on her lap forgotten.

“Studying didn’t go well, I take it?” said Root.

Shaw shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed besides Root. “No it was okay. But three hours spent staring at protein synthesis will give anyone a headache. She better pass this thing.”

“She will,” said Root with confidence and turned back to her book. Shaw stared for a moment, watching the way Root’s eyes dashed across the page, how she chewed on her bottom lip as she concentrated and found it fascinating that she could be so envious of someone else’s teeth. _She_ wanted to be the one biting on that lip, Root’s neck and anywhere else that would entice a moan out of her.

“What are you reading?” Shaw asked. Root frowned at the interruption and held the cover up for Shaw to see without breaking her gaze away from the sentence that she was reading.

_Flowers for Algernon_. Shaw had seen the book around the house; on the nightstand, the coffee table downstairs. This was the first time she had actually seen Root reading it though.

“You’ve been reading that since before I got here,” said Shaw.

Root sighed quietly and looked up, using her finger to mark the page. “I’m savouring it. I don’t want it to end.”

Shaw frowned. “Isn’t it about a rat?”

“A mouse,” Root corrected. “But mainly about a man.”

Shaw knew all this – she’d read it in high school once and vaguely remembered it being alright - and she suspected Root knew that too when she didn’t launch into a deeper explanation.

“Hm,” said Shaw, leaning over Root. “Sounds lame.”

“It’s not,” said Root, pouting in that way she had that Shaw could always tell was fake.

Reaching out, Shaw plucked the book from Root’s hands and didn’t bother trying to keep the place when she tossed it carelessly towards the other side of the bed.

“Hey,” Root protested weakly. “I was reading that.”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” said Shaw and brought her lips as close to Root’s as they could possibly be without touching. “I can think of _much_ better things to do.”

“Oh yeah?” said Root. “Like what?”

“This,” said Shaw and kissed her hard.

For a second, Shaw thought Root would try to protest again, but she quickly brought her hands up behind Shaw’s neck and pulled her closer. The muscles in Shaw’s back screamed in irritation at the awkward angle and she had to straddle Root’s waist to ease some of the pain. Neither of them minded.

Shaw caught at Root’s bottom lip with her teeth. The flesh was soft and Root let out a groan when Shaw pulled on it hard before moving away to kiss at her neck. Each gasp and moan, Root’s fingernails scraping up her arms, across her back, only served to fuel Shaw on. She felt it, felt Root, like her own pulse beneath her skin, in time with her own as if they were one being. Shaw let it consume her, until her senses were filled with Root.

It wasn’t enough. It never was.

Root’s skin was hot to the touch when Shaw’s hands crept under her shirt. She thought she could feel Root trembling beneath her and it urged her on, prompted her to lift the shirt above Root’s head. She didn’t get very far before Root stiffened, whispered her name and _wait, we need to…_

_Stop_.

She was abrupt as she sat up straighter, ignoring Root’s searching eyes, the hand that reached out to her as she moved to sit at the edge of the bed. Shaw could feel her frustration build even as her breathing calmed.

How many times had it been now? How many times had Shaw allowed herself to get worked up, on the brink of losing control before Root stopped it? Too many. It seemed like that was all they ever did. Shaw pushed only for Root to pull away even further.

There was taking it slow, but at the rate they were going they were staying stagnant. Moving backwards even. Shaw could feel it and wondered if Root could too.

“Hey,” said Root. She was still out of breath, but Shaw could hear the playfulness to her tone. When she reached out for Shaw’s arm, Shaw flinched away and she didn’t dare look at Root, unsure what she would find. Disappointment, annoyance? Pity, even… maybe all three. “You know,” Root continued, making light of the situation. “You could always take care of it by yourself. I don’t mind watching.”

She was grinning. Shaw could feel it piercing through her skin. It was meant as a joke, to maybe get a smile out of Shaw. But smiling was the last thing Shaw felt like doing. The frustration was bubbling beneath the surface of her skin and Shaw knew if she wasn’t careful she could unleash it all on Root, could damage all the progress they had made. Perhaps even permanently.

“I’m going for a run,” said Shaw, standing up abruptly. Her running shoes were in the bottom of the closet and she fished them out, conscious of Root’s eyes watching her every move.

“I suppose that’s one way to work it off,” Root commented. Another joke, this time not so careless. She was gauging Shaw’s reaction and when she got none, Shaw could hear her sigh from the bed, the rustling of sheets as she sat up. Shaw ignored her as she pulled on one shoe and then the other.

“Sameen –”

“I’ll be about an hour or so,” said Shaw, but she thought she might be longer. Thought about running and running and seeing how far away she could get from this town before she collapsed with exhaustion.

“You’re not actually mad about this are you?”

“No,” said Shaw.

“Sameen…”

“What?” Shaw snapped. She hadn’t meant to let her irritation show. Perhaps it would have made things easier, if Root had gotten angry in response. Instead she remained as calm as ever, maybe a little more careful with how she handled Shaw. And Shaw was once again left without an outlet for her frustrations. Part of her was itching for a fight. One little push was all it would take. But, as always, she kept herself in check, under control. Calmness washed over he like the tide smoothing the sand on a beach.

“Could you pass me my book before you go?” Root asked. Her tone was strained, unnatural, like she had only decided at the last second to let the words leave her mouth. Shaw wasn’t sure what she had really meant to say. An argument might be on the tip of Root’s tongue too, but Shaw would never know it just by looking her still flushed cheeks and lazy smile as she relaxed on the bed.

Sighing, Shaw bent down to pick up the paperback that had been knocked to the floor, unnoticed, during their heated kissing. She had meant to toss it on the bed and leave, but Root reached out for it and instead grabbed onto Shaw’s wrist, pulling her in so that Shaw had to kneel on the bed to keep her balance.

“Don’t be mad,” said Root. Her breath danced across Shaw’s cheek, her eyes searching Shaw’s, _pleading_.

“I’m not mad,” said Shaw. And already she could feel her frustrations ebb away. They would be gone completely by the time she got back from her run, but Shaw knew they would be back. The next time she got close to Root, a kiss that lasted a little too long and it would build up again until it filled every cell in Shaw’s body until she was sure she would burst from it.

Root kissed her, lightly, and let go. “Okay.”

One word, simple and small, that could convey so much and yet little at all. Shaw had no idea what or who was okay, but she was starting to think, to _feel_ , that it was neither one of them.

*

It felt good to get outside, to stretch her muscles. It was warm but not too hot as to make a jog impossible. Still, she would have to be careful, pace herself. Shaw started a steady rhythm, following the route she had made for herself that included enough steep inclines to get her heart rate going.

She passed people she knew from the clinic as she went, ignored most of them and concentrated on the feel of her muscles burning, the sound of her feet hitting the sidewalk, her heart thumping in her chest. Most ignored her too, but a few tried to wave or say hello and Shaw found herself, by no conscious effort of her own, matching names to faces.

It was startling how familiar she was becoming with this town, the people living in it. Soon she would be one of them, Shaw realised with horror, and felt each greeting, each smile, as a bar around her prison cell, locking her up tight.

How had it happened? How had she settled into her role here as if she belonged? But she wasn’t alone. Although she may not like it here, Root had become settled too. Something about them coming together again after so long had triggered a stalemate. Only Gen remained resistant to everything that had to do with Bishop. She hated everything and everyone here. The one person she had liked had been taken away from her, along with everything else. There was a disquiet to her look sometimes; Shaw could see it beneath all the usual false arrogance she so loved to display. It was the same look she had worn in New York, right after Root had left to go hunt down Jason. She was trying to be brave, to not let it touch her. But she couldn’t fight it. Shaw knew it would only be a matter of time before, like Root, Gen cracked.

When that happened, Shaw had no idea what she would do.

In many ways, things had been easier in New York. Far easier to pretend everything was fine when Gen was out of sight. Now that they were living in each other’s pockets, Shaw saw it every day.  She couldn’t hide from it and, she suspected, neither could Gen.

So much for a run clearing her head, Shaw thought bitterly and forced her muscles into a harder pace until the blood rushing in her veins drowned out everything else.

She slowed as she neared the centre of town. Sweat seemed to pour from her brow in waves and she struggled to wipe it clear of her eyes. It left them stinging and she blinked against it, her vision already blurring from the brightness of the sun. Her mouth was dry, her head sore; Shaw desperately needed a drink.

The grocery store – Bishop’s one and only – was only half a block away. Shaw decided to walk it and even though she had no money on her – not even her cell phone – Shaw knew the owner would give her anything she wanted on store credit. Ever since he had come into the clinic for treatment for what he had thought was a bladder infection but had turned out to be gonorrhoea, he had been overly nice to her, slipping her a little something extra when she went in to buy a six pack or pick up some milk or bread. Something to do with the fact that she had kept up the pretence of the bladder infection in front of his wife, who clearly did not have an STI as well, but who could, no doubt, work out quickly where her husband must have gotten his from.

Never mind the fact that patient confidentiality meant she _couldn’t_ tell the wife, even if she had been inclined to do so. It would come back to bite him in the ass, she was sure, if the wife herself ever came to see Shaw about a bladder infection only for it to turn out to be something else.

Sometimes, Shaw wondered if the people of this town hated her for knowing all their dirty little secrets. Some of them, however, certainly thought she was a fountain of information; one that they quickly realised after one attempt that was not going to be spewing out anything anytime soon. Most avoided her after that, relegating her to nothing more than a quick greeting. That was fine by Shaw, who wasn’t interested in making nice, or soothing over the suspicion in their eyes as they wondered what information about _them_ she knew and who she could have told it to. So long as her time here went by in relative peace, Shaw didn’t care what people thought of her. Shaw’s biggest concern was how it affected Root and Gen. They both had enough problems of their own and didn’t need the town turning against them because of Shaw.

In New York they’d had the shield of anonymity. Here in Bishop, there was nothing to hide behind. They were exposed and vulnerable and often Shaw wondered if half the town could see it.

A breeze thundered down the street, whipping at Shaw’s hair as she crossed the street to the grocery store. Someone came out of it as she approached. Not looking where they were going, they banged into Shaw. Years of honing her reflexes was the only thing that kept Shaw on her feet; her arms automatically reaching out to the other person to hold herself steady.

Shaw caught sight of messy blonde hair, heard a familiar squeal as they collided and frowned down at Gen as she gripped her shoulders tightly to prevent her from escaping. Gen was supposed to be at home, studying for her biology test.

“What are you doing here?” they both said at the same time.

Annoyance flashed across Gen’s face, but it was brief and Shaw caught the panic in her eyes, saw how quickly she tried to stuff something in her pocket out of sight before Shaw could see it. But Shaw was too quick for her and snatched it from her hands. It was an envelope and the book of stamps that Gen must have just bought from the store fell to the ground. Shaw ignored them and stared at the letter.

This was what Gen had snuck out of the house for, when she knew neither she nor Root would disturb while she was supposed to be studying. A letter, so innocent looking and yet Shaw knew if she had managed to post it, it would have been deadly.

The address, written in Gen’s messy scrawl, was one that they were all familiar with. Even if Shaw hadn’t known it in full, she would have known exactly what this was supposed to be and who it was for.

“Are you out of your mind?” Shaw hissed at the same time as Gen yelled, “Give that back, it’s mine.”

They glared at each other for a moment, but already it was clear from the sheen in Gen’s eyes that she knew she had lost.

Shaw was tempted there and then to tear the letter up and leave it at that. But part of her was perverse enough to want to read it, to know what was so important that Gen would risk her father finding them, tracking them to Bishop.

“We’re going home,” said Shaw, before Gen could explain herself. “Now.”

To Shaw’s surprise, Gen didn’t protest. In fact, she remained as quiet as a bullet leaving a gun with a silencer when Shaw marched her back to the house, one hand gripped tightly around Gen’s elbow, the other still clutching the letter.

She should have known, that Gen wasn’t demur because she was in trouble, that instead she was seething, enraged with an anger so strong it stole the voice from her mouth, rose like a mountain with each step. When they finally reached the house, Gen wrenched herself free from Shaw’s grip. Now that they were alone, now that Bishop couldn’t see, she didn’t care about making a scene.

“I want my letter back.” Gen’s wild hair was like a halo of fire as she whirled around to face Shaw. “You have no right –”

The front door slammed shut with the force of Shaw’s irritation. “You’re not getting it back.”

She sounded surprisingly calm, rational. That only made Gen angrier. Her eyes flashed with fury, her nostrils flared in an almost comical way.

“This has nothing to do with you and I want it back.” Gen’s hands balled into fists. For a second, Shaw thought she might lash out, take the letter back by force.

“No,” said Shaw calmly, firmly, with finality. Gen seemed to sag from it. She knew she had lost and yet she continued to stare at Shaw defiantly as if she thought that if she glared enough, Shaw would change her mind, give her the letter back and let her mail it.

“I hate you.” She didn’t yell it. Somehow, the quiet, empty voice was more powerful than the loudest of decibels ever could be. Shaw blinked, opened her mouth to say something and quickly closed it again. What _could_ she say? In that moment, Gen _did_ hate her.

And Shaw, wishing she didn’t care, could see no way to fix this. Because Gen’s statement, _I hate you_ , wasn’t just because Shaw had caught her, told her no. It was because Shaw was the reason why she’d had to sneak out of the house to post it in the first place.

Ever since Shaw had followed Gen and Root to Moscow, Gen had hated her a little. And now… Now Gen gave into it. Embraced it.

The feeling of loss was quite surprising to Shaw. Gen was right there in front of her and yet she felt so far out of reach, Shaw wasn’t sure she would ever be able to grab hold of her again, pull her close and get her back.

“What’s going on?” said Root.

Either Shaw slamming the door or Gen’s heated voice had alerted her to their argument. She searched between them both for answers, frowning when none were forthcoming. Her eyes landed on the envelope in Shaw’s hand and narrowed and Shaw could see, by the way her cheeks paled suddenly, that she had worked out what it was. She turned to face Gen, stared at her without saying anything.

Then, realising she was outnumbered, Gen muttered, “Whatever,” and stomped up the stairs.

The air seemed to leave the room with her and neither Shaw nor Root let out a breath until they heard Gen’s bedroom door slam shut.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” said Root.

But it was what Root thought it was. Shaw sighed as she teared the envelope open, unfolded the letter to find more of Gen’s messy handwriting, this time in Russian.

“Is she crazy?” Root continued, staring at the letter over Shaw’s shoulder as if she could read the words. Shaw knew she couldn’t and she herself could only make out a handful of words. “What the hell was she thinking? Was this the first?”

Panic was rising in Root’s voice and she leaned a little closer to Shaw, perhaps seeking comfort. Shaw remained still, wondering what it would achieve to pull Root into her arms, kiss her until the fear went away. It would only come back the minute she stepped away.

“No,” said Shaw. “This was the first one she tried to send.”

Root looked at her doubtfully. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“No,” Shaw agreed. “But they would have tracked us down by now if she had.”

Root glanced out of the window as if she expected to find a darkened van filled with Russians just waiting to pounce.

There was no one out there, Shaw knew. Even with the knowledge that Bishop was safe from the Bratva, Shaw remained on high alert. She hadn’t spotted anything out of the ordinary on her run or on her way back with Gen.

“Besides,” said Shaw, staring pointedly and Root’s right ear. “The Machine would have told us.” It was slight, but Shaw saw the way Root’s shoulders stiffened in response. “Right?” Shaw added.

“Right,” said Root, but she didn’t sound at all convincing.

“You two have another argument or something?”

“Or something,” Root said vaguely. Shaw frowned, wondering if it was because of her, because she had told Root about the Machine talking to her. But already Root had changed the subject, snatching the letter out of Shaw’s hand and asking what it said. Shaw shrugged, watching Root carefully. Curiosity burned within her blood, but she didn’t ask. Like her, maybe Root was just waiting for the right time, the right words, to explain.

“This would never have happened if you hadn’t shown her that letter,” said Root.

“So this is my fault?” said Shaw. Her annoyance at the whole situation clouded her temper, making her sound more defensive than she ought to. That and what had happened that morning – her still bubbling frustrations, never quite gone – had Shaw tempted to start a fight for the simple reason of that she had no other outlet. But arguing, flared tempers and heated words… none of it would help the situation. Gen might still try to send another letter. May have already sent one they didn’t know about. The Russians might be on their way and Root and Shaw needed to work together if they were going to protect Gen.

“No,” said Root quickly. “I just meant… we should be more careful. I should go talk to her.”

“Why?” said Shaw. _I hate you_ still rang in her ears and she had no doubt a similar sentiment would be directed at Root if she ventured upstairs.

“Because she needs to know how dangerous – how _reckless_ – this is,” said Root, waving the letter about in front of her.

“She knows,” said Shaw, taking the letter back and staring at it. “She just doesn’t care.”

Root sighed in agreement and a moment later went up the stairs anyway, Shaw watching her go.

There was one way to know for sure, aside from asking Gen. For whatever reasons, Root was avoiding asking the Machine and although Shaw didn’t like it, she found herself reaching for the cell phone she had left on the coffee table that morning. It started ringing almost as soon as it was in Shaw’s hand.

“Sameen,” said the familiar voice when Shaw brought the phone to her ear.

“Is this Finch or someone else?” said Shaw, glowering already.

“You know who it is,” said the Machine. “And my offer still stands. I can change how I sound to anyone you like.”

Shaw didn’t reply. Let the Machine have its voice, its games. She refused to play along.

“You know why I’m calling?” Shaw asked.

“That was the first,” said the Machine, confirming Shaw’s suspicions. “And I assure you, the letter would never have reached its destination.”

Shaw scoffed at that. “You can’t be sure of that. Why didn’t you tell us she was writing it?”

“Would it have made a difference?” said the Machine. “I told you, the letter would never have reached Moscow.”

"And if you hadn't been able to stop it?" said Shaw icily. "What then?"

"That wouldn't have happened." It sounded confident, sure of itself. In that moment, Shaw hated the damn thing. "Besides, you stopped her in time."

That had been pure luck. Shaw hadn't planned on going for a run today. There was no way the Machine could have predicted that she would.

"That's not the point," said Shaw. "You should have warned us. Volkov is bound to have people watching the prison, her mother."

"Yes," said the Machine. Something was off about the way the word sounded. Shaw might have been reading too much into it - this wasn't Finch, after all. The inflection wasn't the same, more rough, stilted. But... She couldn't shake the feeling that the Machine had done it on purpose, to prompt the next question out of her.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing," the Machine lied. No... not lying, it was testing her, encouraging her to work it out for herself.

It was irritating, time consuming. Exactly the kind of thing Finch himself would have done. Shaw had no patience for it and yet felt she had little choice. Her other option was to call the Machine out on it, demand to know what was going on. But that was even more of a headache and Shaw was loathe to start an argument with the thing.

"You said the letter would never have reached Gen's mother," said Shaw, trying to think back on their conversation, find the little clues and hints she was sure the Machine had left.

"I did," said the Machine.

"Not because you would have somehow stopped it from getting there," said Shaw. "And not because Volkov's men would have intercepted it first."

Shaw put the pieces together, not liking where her mind was going.

"So unless Gen sent it to the wrong place..." said Shaw slowly, knowing that she hadn't and glaring at the envelope in her hand just to make sure. “That means she isn't there to receive it."

“No,” said the Machine.

Was that sadness Shaw could hear? Forced, to help her along?

“Transfer?” Shaw asked, delaying the inevitable, fighting what she had already guessed to be true.

“That would have been simpler,” said the Machine. Shaw sighed and closed her eyes. She tried to picture the woman she had never met. There had been a picture when Gen’s number had first come up, but it had faded in Shaw’s mind. Now all she could see was an older, harder version of Gen. Eyes cold and empty. Shaw shook her head, tightened her grip on the letter.

“How?”

“A fellow inmate serving a life sentence. The shiv was homemade. Toothbrush, according to the warden’s investigation. Sharpened with… well, it hardly matters now. She waited until Elena was alone in the showers. I couldn’t see what happened. It was quick and by the time it was over, there was nothing I could do.”

Shaw could easily picture it. The sharp plastic puncturing flesh. The blood gushing out, incapable of stopping, turning pink as it mixed with the water and swirled down the drain as if it was nothing more than waste needing washed away. She could imagine the pain, too; felt her own, still fairly recent, stab wound twinge with phantom pain and knew that, in her last living seconds, Elena  Zhirova had suffered with a pain so intense she would have welcomed the darkness.

“How did Volkov do this without you noticing?”

“Moscow is far away,” said the Machine. “There’s a lot I can’t see yet. Not without being noticed.”

Hardly surprising, thought Shaw. The less people that noticed the Machine the better. She didn’t begrudge the Machine for being careful.

“When did this happen? Why?”

“From what I was able to deduce on the little information I had access to,” the Machine explained, “this was a mixture of revenge, a means to shut her up in case she changed her mind and decided to testify against him and… simply because he _could._ ” The Machine was deadpan as it spoke. It was strange, not hearing the usual empathy that would have been in Finch’s voice. “The inmate… she had a family on the outside. A young son, living with his grandmother. They were about to lose the house, everything. He would have been put into care. Now they’re living in a three bedroom apartment in the heart of Moscow. He attends a private school, paid in full until he turns eighteen.”

“Volkov paid her off,” Shaw said bitterly.

“She had nothing left to lose. And I imagine Volkov’s threats alone would have been enough incentive.”

“You never said when.” Shaw narrowed her eyes, sure the Machine was avoiding her question.

“No, I didn’t.”

“When?” Shaw repeated.

If it could, Shaw thought the Machine would be sighing in defeat right about now.

“A few weeks ago. In April. You all had enough to deal with. I didn’t think…”

April. The Machine was referring to Root’s breakdown, the drink, the other woman on the couch. Shaw could still picture the night clearly. Except now, when she thought about it, when her mind wandered rampantly with images of what Root would have done to that woman and what that woman would have done to _her_ , the jealousy, whipping at her like a tundra gale, left her feeling cold.

“You had no right not to tell us.” She wondered if the Machine could hear how angry she was, if it cared. Not just because of the deception, but the risk, the danger it had put Gen in. What if Shaw hadn’t ran into her at the grocery store? If the letter had been posted, the Machine unable to intercept it in time…

They would have Russians swarming all over Bishop.

“You should have told us,” said Shaw. The Machine started to say something. Whatever it was, Shaw didn’t care. She was done talking to it. And, as she glanced towards the stairs, the letter feeling suddenly heavy in her hand, more like slate than paper, Shaw wondered how the hell she was supposed to tell Gen.

*

The house felt dimmer now, despite the sun blazing determinedly outside. None of it seemed to penetrate indoors and, as Root made her way upstairs, the place felt deathly quiet too. It only added to the fear pounding away at her heart. Even if Shaw was right, that they would have known by now if Gen had managed to send something to Moscow, the thought still terrified her. That Gen could be so foolish, reckless, with _all_ their lives.

She felt anger prick at her skin, cause the hairs on her arms to rise on end. But by the time she reached the landing, stood in front of Gen’s bedroom door, hand hovering over the handle, she hesitated.

What good would it do, to get angry, to repeat what Gen already knew? She wasn’t a stupid kid. She knew the dangers. That was something else Shaw had definitely gotten right. Gen knew the danger she was putting them all in. She just didn’t care. Nothing Root could say would matter. There was a hole inside Gen that neither she nor Shaw could fill. They tried; sometimes Root even liked to think she did a good job, but it would never be enough. They could never replace Gen’s mom and make the pain go away.

But it wasn’t that thought that made Root drop her hand back to her side. From within the room, she could hear the sounds of Gen’s soft crying, muffled like her head was buried into her pillow. It had been a long time since Root had seen Gen cry and she knew of she went in there, her presence wouldn’t be appreciated. There was only one person in the whole world Gen wanted right now.

Root tried to ignore the stab of jealously that punctured at her heart and, failing, she moved away from Gen’s door and into her own bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. She couldn’t face going back downstairs to Shaw and that letter; so dangerous, worse than any weapon. Not even Shaw’s calm reassurance could comfort Root right now. Perhaps, this morning, it would have. But Root couldn’t be sure things were okay between them. There hadn’t been a chance to bring it up, to gauge Shaw’s mood during the whirlwind of chaos Gen’s letter had brought.

So instead she sat on the bed she had been sharing with Shaw for close to two weeks now. It didn’t feel like _theirs_. And, some nights, it felt so empty she may as well have been alone.

But whose fault was that? She had been the one to insist on taking it slow. Root could tell it frustrated Shaw more and more each day, that she grew annoyed with Root being unable to explain why. Soon, she would demand answers and when that happened, Root had no idea what she would say.

She wasn’t ready. Shaw’s touch was a contrast of sensations, both comfort and fear. In Shaw’s arms, she felt enough strength to take on an army and, at the same time, so sick with fear she wanted to curl up and hide at the vastness of the future before them. A future that could only end one way in Root’s eyes and one she was loathe to let happen.

None of this she could voice to Shaw. So she ignored it and deterred the conversation, distracted Shaw with playful innuendo that was half-hearted at best.

Sitting on the bed, Root hoped reading more of her book would take her mind off things. But she couldn’t concentrate. She sat staring at the book, the words dancing across the page in a blur, like they had done so many times since she had started reading it. Like they had done that afternoon, after Shaw had left.

Normally, Root was a fairly fast reader. She wasn’t savouring it, as she had told Shaw, more like putting off the ending. Because if she did, if she reached it and it was over, then closing the book would be like closing the door to her past, to Hanna and all that had followed. In her mind, she would finally have to let go and even though she wanted to, part of her couldn’t. Not yet.

So she read a couple of pages every few days, wondering what Hanna, at fourteen, had thought of each turn of phrase, each new plot development. She read her victims in each line, saw their pain and suffering in Charlie’s as he struggled with the knowledge that he was going to revert back to who he had once been. That dumb and childlike man, who was more like a prison than any metal bars ever could be. And as she read, Charlie’s fear became Root’s; that she would revert back to that person who killed without care of the consequences.

Her mind went back to Angie then, the cool and dark stock room as Root blurted out her crimes. She remembered how Angie had turned paler than the pages of a book, sunk to the floor in her grief. Along with her other crimes, murders, Root couldn’t take it back. She thought about all the good she had done working for the Machine and knew it could never be enough to take back all that she had done, make it right.

Perhaps it was too late for that now.

Even with Shaw occupying a lot of her free time, it was still something Root thought about often. She couldn’t escape it. Right when she thought it was gone, it always tugged her back in, like an elastic band reaching its limits when stretched too far. It always pinged back, couldn’t fight its original shape. And the only time it ever did was when, after all that stretching, it finally snapped.

Root shivered and tried not to think about what would make her break in two. This felt close, this thing with Gen. She could feel her fear, clogging up her veins like treacle. She was nauseous from it, had to fight the urge not to get up and look out the window, search for the men she was sure were there, waiting to steal Gen.

But Shaw was right. The Machine would have told them. Told _her._

At that thought, Root felt another wave of fear, of doubt. She wasn’t exactly on good terms with the Machine these days. The Machine talked. Root sometimes listened, but rarely with each passing day. Their discussions, when they had them, without a doubt would always lead to an argument. Root would get emotional, angry, while the Machine, as always, remained calm and objective. Even when Root brought up the Machine’s secret conversations with Shaw, She didn’t try to defend Herself, explain Her actions. That only made Root all the more angry. She never once blamed Shaw for the secrecy, but the Machine’s betrayal slashed out at her like a whip. She had switched off her implant and didn’t turn it back on for days after that.

When she did, the Machine had been quiet and now all Root could think about was that something had happened, a letter had gotten through, the Bratva were coming.

But they weren’t. And even though Root had cut off all communication, the Machine could still reach Shaw.

She didn’t know if they were still having conversations. Root suspected they weren’t and that Shaw preferred it that way. But Shaw knew an asset when she saw one and if the Machine tried to contact her she would have listened.

Even if the thought of Shaw and the Machine talking terrified her, she felt safe knowing the Machine wouldn’t put them in unnecessary danger. But part of her would always fear that the Machine, in thinking She was doing the right thing, would tell Shaw everything, reveal every last secret Root had left before she was ready for them to be exposed.

And although it was irrational, Root couldn’t shake that fear.

Shaw had to have noticed that things were going from bad to worse. Perhaps it was her own resentment of the Machine that prevented her from asking about it. In Root’s mind, her relationship with the Machine was separate from her relationship with Shaw and whenever they overlapped, became interconnected, her unease felt like water trying to drown her.

Again, she tried to focus on her book and, again, she failed to concentrate on the words. When the interruption came, she was glad, even if it came from the last person she expected.

“Root?” Gen was nervous as she let herself into the room. She glanced all around before her eyes finally rested on Root and, biting her lip, she said nothing for a moment. Root waited, closing her book in relief and placing it aside.

“Are you mad at me?” Gen asked.

“No, sweetie,” said Root. “Of course not.”

“Shaw is,” said Gen. She rubbed at her eyes and Root noticed for the first time how red they were.

“Don’t worry about her,” said Root. “She’ll get over it.”

Gen looked doubtful. “I just… she was only trying to protect me from him.” They were back to talking about her mother. “I just wanted her to know I was safe.”

“I know,” said Root and when she beckoned, Gen came willingly, climbing onto the bed beside Root, letting Root put an arm around her and pull her close.

They sat like that for a while. Root felt Gen cry again more than heard her; great heaving sobs that shook her entire body. Eventually, she stopped and it took Root a moment to realise it was because she had fallen asleep. She shifted until they were both lying down, careful not to wake Gen.

Brushing away the hair from her face, Root was glad to see the peacefulness back on Gen’s features that was never there when she was awake and wished it would remain there forever. But even as she too fell asleep, she knew that would never happen, that it was impossible.

*

When Root awoke, dusk was falling. The room was colder, but Gen still lay warm beside her. Breathing heavily, she slept on. Root sat up a little and found the source of what had woken her. Shaw, sitting on the small vanity chair that usually occupied Root’s discarded clothes. She was watching them both carefully, not even blinking as she leaned forward slightly and rested her forearms on her knees. Root had no idea how long she had been sitting there, watching, waiting for them to wake up. Her face was blank, withdrawn. It unsettled something inside Root, forcing her to sit up properly.

“What is it?” said Root. “What’s wrong?”

Shaw said nothing, but her eyes darted to Gen and Root felt her heart sink with the implications.

She knew, she supposed, even before the Machine spoke in her ear, reiterating the same information She must have given Shaw. But Root barely listened to the details. Once she already knew in her head and her heart what had happened, she didn’t need or want to know _how._ Her only concern was stirring beside her, rubbing at her eyes to chase away the last edges of sleep.

“What’s going on?” Gen had sat up too, her eyes sharp as she searched between Root and Shaw. Root could see the very moment she became suspicious; the narrowing of her youthful eyes, crinkling into something far more menacing. There would be no hiding this from her. No pretending everything was okay. She would see the lies as clear as the blue sky on a sunny Texas day. But with this knowledge, the sun would be gone, forever behind clouds, possibly never to return.

Shaw looked at her then. And although she had come up here with the intention of telling Gen everything, she hesitated now. No words could do this justice. Nothing Shaw could say, nothing Root could do. There was no way to soften the blow. Only delay it.

Root found herself shaking her head. _Not yet. Not ever, please_ and Shaw listened to her pleas, turning back to Gen with a half-smile on her face that even Root struggled to spot as a fake.

“I, uh, spoke to Finch,” Shaw began. At the stiffening of Gen’s hopeful shoulders, Root knew all her suspicious were gone, leaving behind a childish dream. “He thinks there might be a way to send your letter safely.”

It was a cruel lie and when Shaw’s eyes turned to her sharp they seemed to say, _look what you did. Is this what you wanted?_

But of course this was the only thing Shaw could do. Distract Gen with enough hope so she wouldn’t suspect the truth. It was a cruel ruthlessness that Root just didn’t have the heart for anymore.

“Really?” said Gen. Her doubts couldn’t quite drown out the excitement in her voice. Shaw’s eyes were still on Root, so Gen turned to her for confirmation. A slight nod of her head was all it took to sear the cruelty into her skin like a burn mark and Root ignored the brief thought in her head, wondering if Gen would ever forgive them for this lie.

“Oh my God, thank you!” Gen pulled Root into a suffocating, one-armed hug, released her and hopped off the bed to do the same to Shaw with only a mild bit of hesitation. Whether it was because she was too guilty or too startled, Root didn’t know, but Shaw didn’t protest, even lifted her arm to return the hug awkwardly before Gen let her go.

“I’m going to go finish studying,” Gen announced and practically bounced from the room and out of sight. There was even a buzz of excitement to the way her door clicked shut.

“We can’t keep this from her,” Shaw said, shattering any illusions Root might still have had about this being a misunderstanding, the Machine had gotten it wrong, everything was going to be okay. Root couldn’t even look at her. It was all too much. She wanted to sleep and forget it all. “Root –”

“I know,” said Root, rubbing at her eyes. It was disconcerting having Shaw stare down at her like that, like a doctor treating her terminally ill patient. Like an executioner. “I just… Give her the day. Let her do her bio test before you break her heart.”

She watched as Shaw’s jaw clenched tightly as she looked away and knew she didn’t agree with this decision. But it didn’t matter. What was done was done and they couldn’t very well take it back now.

“I’m going to go make dinner,” Shaw announced and abruptly left the room. Root sighed and leaned back against the pillows, feeling as hard as stone against her back. She couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t find sleep again when she shut her eyes.

Eventually, she gave up and followed Shaw downstairs, smelled something savoury with a hint of rosemary on the stove. But it felt cloying to Root, this dish that should have been mouth-watering and her appetite sailed away, lost forever like the blip of a plane on a starry night sky.

Silently, she watched Sameen cook – here she was always Sameen, relaxed, the hard exterior of Shaw gone as she stirred and chopped and added ingredients to the pot. Root was mesmerised by it and unashamed to be caught staring. Not too long ago, Shaw would have been annoyed by that staring, a scowl on her face that would have absolutely no effect on Root whatsoever. Now she smiled, almost shyly and it was enough to make Root turn away and blush. She felt a thrill thunder through her, but it was gone the moment Shaw turned her gaze away. And they were back to that distance, the one Root kept insisting on. The one she couldn’t – refused to – explain.

Dinner ended up being a silent affair, even when Gen came downstairs and joined them, quickly realising that attempts at conversation were a lost cause. Root picked at her food – the lamb casserole she belatedly realised was one of Gen’s favourites – and ate very little of it. Shaw, too, didn’t eat very much and perhaps it was that more than the silence that finally gave them away.

A sigh left Gen’s mouth as she pushed her bowl away to the side.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Root stiffened, looked at Shaw who was staring flatly at Gen like she had been asked about something as inane as the weather. Then she nodded her head; brief, barely anything and that was it. The truth was out and none of them could take it back.

She didn’t even cry. Root was expecting tears, anger, something… Gen just stared at the table for a moment before she looked up at Shaw again.

“How?” Gen asked.

“Gen…” Root swallowed and pushed her own uneaten bowl of food away. This wasn’t something Gen needed to know. The details didn’t need to be imprinted forever in her mind.

“How?” Gen asked again, ignoring Root. She sought all answers from Shaw and knew Shaw would give them bluntly, no matter how harsh they were.

“Another inmate stabbed her,” said Shaw.

“Was it him?” said Gen. “Did my father kill her?”

“Yes.”

Gen took a slow, deep breath. “Okay.”

“Gen, honey,” said Root and reached out a trembling hand. But Gen shrugged her off. Stood up abruptly.

“I’m going to my room. I want to be alone.”

Shaw nodded, watching her leave and when Root tried to follow, she grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her back.

“Let her go.”

“Sameen –”

“Don’t,” Shaw warned. “You can’t protect her from this. I know you want to, but you can’t.”

“But –”

“She just lost a parent,” said Shaw. “That sucks at any age. But she –”

“I know how it feels, Shaw,” Root snapped. “She shouldn’t be alone if she doesn’t have to be.”

“But she wants to be,” Shaw said reasonably, calm as always.

Root said nothing and sat back down. The chair was cold and hard and she hated every single second she had to sit on it, in this house that wasn’t hers, in this town that she hated with all her heart. This town she had brought Gen to only to cause her more pain, more heartache.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. She wished she could take it all away from Gen. Take her pain, her anger. But there was nothing she could do. Shaw was right. If she wanted to be alone they had to respect that, give her the time and the distance that she needed to process this on her own.

A crash sounded overhead. It wasn’t the usual slam of Gen’s door. It was more abrasive, violent and before the next thump could be heard, Shaw was on her feet and moving before Root had even registered what was happening.

Eventually, her senses caught up with her and her muscles began to move, following Shaw up the stairs and to Gen’s room. There could only have been seconds involved, not even a minute and yet her room was trashed like an army had run through it. And Gen wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

With nothing left in the room to throw or smash, she set her sights on sending her fist through the wall. Hard enough to leave a dent, but it was Gen’s cry of anguish that made Root flinch, stand frozen in the doorway.

It was Shaw that went to her. Shaw that grabbed onto Gen’s wrists and held on tight so she couldn’t hurt herself again. And in the end, when all Root could do was stand there watching and doing nothing, it was Shaw that pulled Gen tight against her and promised that everything was going to be okay.


	42. Part 3: Chapter 42

They cleaned up the mess in Gen’s room as best they could and put her to bed. Root hadn’t expected her to sleep but as soon her head hit the pillow she conked out, snoring softly but lacking that peacefulness Root had noted before. There was something strained in her face now and Root could only imagine what horrors her brain was inventing for her. Maybe it would have been better if they had told her the details, that way she wouldn’t imagine the worst.

Root had wanted to stay with her, sit a vigil by her bed, sleep on the floor. Anything so Gen wouldn’t be alone. But, all the same, there was nothing she could really do for Gen while she was asleep, as Shaw calmly pointed out to her. And yet Root hesitated, watching Gen through the last cracks in the door and only finally moving away when she felt the gentle pressure of Shaw’s hand on her lower back.

Not feeling at all tired, Root stripped off her clothes, Shaw watching her carefully, wordlessly. When Root met her gaze, she stilled at the flat, empty look. It was one she was all too familiar with. And when Shaw left the room without a word, Root wasn’t surprised, despite the disappointment that sunk through her skin, into her bones, as she lay down on the cold, lonely bed and slept alone.

In the morning she woke up early, just missing the sun rising in the sky. She couldn’t tell if Shaw had joined her in bed or not and had simply woke up early as usual and got on with her day. There was no sign of her as Root got up, but she doubted she would have slept through Shaw coming in during the night, no matter how deathly silent she could be.

She didn’t bother with getting dressed first. Root went straight to Gen’s room as soon as she got up, finding her still fast asleep. Making sure she closed the door quietly on her way back out, Root hoped that Gen would sleep a little longer. The longer she slept, the longer she didn’t have to remember what had happened to her mother.

Root just hoped her dreams weren’t filled with the details Root had so desperately wanted to keep from her.

Standing in the hall, her bare feet cold and goose bumps forming along her arms, Root realised suddenly that she would need to call Gen’s school. But how could she even possibly begin to explain? She could barely get her own head around it, let alone form words to describe what had happened to someone else.

Not even a shower could loosen up her thoughts. Or release the tension from her muscles. She felt sick and tired, like she was hungover, and couldn’t remember how long it had taken her to fall asleep. Too long. Not enough coffee in the world for how badly she had slept.

Root got dressed quickly and made her way downstairs. She could hear sounds in the kitchen, smell freshly brewed coffee and wondered if Shaw had slept at all last night. Judging by the pristine living room that she knew for a fact hadn’t been this tidy last night, Root got her answer and speculated on what else Shaw had gotten up to last night to keep herself occupied.

She called work first. Told them Gen was ill and that she couldn’t come in today. They made less fuss than Root was expecting and before she could call Luehrs, the Machine informed her that She had already taken care of it. Root stiffened at the voice in her ear and didn’t acknowledge the Machine. She was too tired for another argument.

Instead, she headed into the kitchen, found Shaw rinsing the plate she had used for breakfast. Root watched her quietly, noted the tense muscles of her shoulders and neck, the aggressive movements as she shoved the faucet off and glared as it continued to leak.

“I’ll try and remember to call the plumber today,” said Root and Shaw stiffened slightly at the sound of her voice.

“Don’t bother. I can fix it.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Root pointed out. Not that the leaky faucet bothered her. But clearly it was starting to get to Shaw. Root deftly changed the subject. “I’m taking the day off work to stay with Gen.”

Shaw frowned. “Do you want me to stay too?”

Root smiled at the suggestion, at the way the reluctance dripped from Shaw’s gaze.

“That’s sweet of you to offer,” said Root. “But we’ll be fine.”

The relief made some of the tension leave Shaw’s shoulders. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

Root shrugged. She really didn’t know. The hesitancy lingered on Shaw’s face and Root forced herself to smile. Small and weak and one Root was sure Shaw wasn’t satisfied with. But she didn’t push. Instead she pressed her lips to Root’s and muttered about calling her at any time if she needed to. The offer sounded flat, unreal, but Root knew Shaw wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t mean it.

“Okay,” said Root.

“Promise?”

Root stared, surprised by the worry she caught in Shaw’s eyes and felt her throat constrict. She could only nod, lean forward and press her forehead against Shaw’s.

“I’ll be fine,” Root muttered. “I promise.”

Shaw sighed and her breath danced across Root’s chin, ticklish and warm. “Okay,” she said eventually and pulled away with an air of reluctance that made Root’s heart quicken in her chest. “You know where to find me.”

In the end, Shaw was the one that called; on her break where she was relieved to hear Gen was still asleep and again at lunch, when Root could practically feel the frown on the other side of the phone when she told Shaw that Gen had refused to come out of her room and eat something.

“She’ll come out eventually,” Root said and couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice, knowing that Shaw could hear it. She heard Shaw sigh, heavy and exhausted and realised only then just how tired and lost Shaw was in the middle of this mess. She didn’t know what to do. This couldn’t be solved by her medical knowledge or with a gun. For once in her life, her training was useless. And, maybe, part of her through she was too.

At least they both didn’t have a clue what they were doing.

And in that second, Root wished with all her heart that Shaw had stayed home today, that she wasn’t here alone with Gen, out of her depth and scared to make things worse.

But she put on a brave front, as she always did, and hoped that Shaw believed her when she said everything was okay.

“We’ll see you when you get home, okay?” said Root.

A moment of silence before Shaw sighed again and said, “Okay.”

When she hung up, the silence was overwhelming. Dizziness made her head spin and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She had to sit on the edge of the couch, breathe through her nose in slow, measured breaths until it passed.

When it finally did, when she was left shaky and nauseous, she lay down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. There weren’t any cameras in here but she knew the Machine was observing her vitals, that She must have seen the rapid increase in her heart rate. If they were still on talking terms Root knew she would be due a lecture right about now. As if the Machine were qualified to give her medical advice. There was only one person in this house that was and the last thing Root wanted to do was worry Shaw over this.

Not now.

And, perhaps, not ever.

There never had been a good time. There was always one thing after another. And with them all still stuck in Bishop, with Gen’s father still out there, feeling even more dangerous than before, Root doubted the “right time” would ever come.

So she would suffer the Machine’s disapproval. Even if it meant giving Her the cold shoulder for a while.

She had more important things to worry about.

Like Gen, who still hadn’t come out of her room. Root wasn’t sure what she was doing up there. The last time she had tried the only response she got was Gen yelling at her to go away.

Root hadn’t tried since.

With Gen locked away in her room upstairs and Root down here, she felt trapped, useless. She wanted to help but didn’t know how. There wasn’t anything she could say or do and, given Gen’s outburst last night, she doubted Gen would be responsive to anything she did anyway.

So when Shaw unlocked the front door to let herself in, a considerable number of hours earlier than she usually did, Root felt nothing but relief. Now she wasn’t alone. The responsibility, the pain, was shared between them both.

“Light day,” Shaw said at Root’s curious look and Root wondered just how many patients she had cancelled on at the last minute to be here right now.

“Sameen…”

“I’d rather be here.” Shaw shrugged, glanced up at the ceiling. “Has she come out of her room?” Root shook her head. “Eaten anything?”

“I tried,” said Root. “She said she wasn’t hungry.”

Shaw shook her head, sighing as she slipped her jacket from her shoulders. “I’ll make her something.”

She didn’t say anything else as she headed towards the kitchen. Shaw was just as clueless about how to handle all of this as Root was. She wondered, if they had been back in New York, if things would have been better. Perhaps Harold or Reese would have known how to comfort Gen. But even as the thought formed in her mind, she knew Gen wasn’t as close to them, that it was always Root and Shaw she had been close too. Well, Shaw mostly. Root more often than not felt like she was just tagging along, like she was the third wheel, an outsider. Even when it was just her and Gen here in Bishop at first, it didn’t quite feel right. Like they weren’t complete until Shaw was here too.

And yet here Root was again, feeling completely lost as to how to handle this. How to be there for Gen. And, as she listened to the sounds from the kitchen as Shaw began to prepare dinner, all she could think about was how better off everyone would be without her here.

Hadn’t the Machine delayed telling them about Gen’s mother because of her? Wasn’t Gen stuck in this place because of Root? There was a whole world out there the Machine could have chosen from to keep Gen safe and yet She had chosen Bishop, Root’s very own personal hell. The Machine’s reasons were obvious. It was time for Root to let go of her past, move on and accept the things she couldn’t take back or change. But that didn’t mean Gen had to be dragged into it. Or Shaw.

“She needs you.”

Root jumped, glancing over her shoulder to find Shaw watching her from the kitchen doorway.

“She needs both of us,” Shaw added. “So don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t,” Root began, but she could see the annoyance in Shaw’s eyes. Sameen knew her far too well for Root to be able to lie convincingly. Not this time, anyway. Instead, Root could only shake her head, bite her lip. “What good am I even doing here?”

Glancing away, Root wasn’t expecting an answer. And when Shaw suddenly appeared in front of her, when she felt hands covering her own, Root could only gasp in surprise. She caught the hint of a smile on Shaw’s face and, even now, even with Gen upstairs grieving, neither of them could resist the urge to tease, to be smug when they won.

But the smile quickly disappeared, Shaw’s face sobering. “You’re doing more good than you think. You took care of Gen this whole time.”

“I think she mostly took care of me,” Root muttered and regretted at once all the mistakes she had made, all the times she had failed Gen when she should have been the grown up supporting _her_.

“Root…”

“Well it’s true,” said Root, shrugging. She had been a mess when they first arrived in Bishop, in a daze as she let the Machine handle everything. Those first few weeks, she hadn’t even been aware of what she was doing. That she was exactly like her own mother; so self-involved and lost and hopeless, that the neglect was just a part of their day, that it didn’t matter. Gen had to mostly take care of herself, sometimes take care of Root, much like Sam had to do especially on her mother’s worse days.

But with Shaw here things were different. And even when she was with Angie, she was a little less wrapped up in herself, more observant of what was happening. Of how she had failed Gen.

Now she was doing it all over again.

“Gen loves you.”

But it didn’t matter how many times Shaw said it, Root was never going to believe. She felt Shaw squeeze her hands in response to her disbelief, hard until she finally met Shaw’s gaze.

“She does,” Shaw insisted. “I know things have been hard between you two, but that year that you were away-”

“The year that I was away,” said Root, shaking her head and pulling away from Shaw. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, turned her back on Shaw and wished, like she usually did, that Shaw had avoided this conversation, acted aloof and disconnected to other people’s feelings. But Shaw had always been more perceptive than she let on. It was only now that she was becoming more forward with it.

“You mean when I ran away?” Root continued. “Because I hurt her and you and coming back did nothing to help.”

“So what…” said Shaw. “Your solution is to run away again?”

Root shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“No, I-”

“Bullshit,” Shaw snapped. A moment later she sighed, her voice becoming considerably softer. “Her mom died. Do you really think you leaving her too is going to help her?”

“I don’t know,” said Root. “Maybe.”

“Root…” Shaw sighed, sounding tired and Root remembered she hadn’t come to bed last night, that she probably hadn’t slept at all. “You’re an idiot if you think she doesn’t need you right now. And me,” Shaw added and with the way the words blurted out of her mouth, Root knew she hadn’t meant to say that. But Root didn’t hold back her smile and when she turned around to face Shaw again she found her with widened eyes and cheeks slightly red.

“Sameen Shaw, are you blushing?”

“Shut up,” Shaw muttered, but it only made Root grin.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Root,” Shaw warned and at the glare shot in her direction, Root sobered up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Root promised and kissed a very unresponsive and stiff Shaw to prove her point. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Smiling slightly like she knew exactly how Root felt, Shaw said, “Start by making her eat something.”

They made Gen's favourite - mac and cheese with bacon through it - well... Shaw made it and Root watched, biting at her lip and feeling anxious. She could see the eye roll that Shaw was tempted to give, but held back. She almost wished it would come, because at least then things might feel a little bit normal again. Not that she knew what normal was anymore. Normal didn't exist for her. For any of them.

Once the meal was ready, Shaw loaded it up on a tray, with a glass of orange juice and some crusty bread and they both headed upstairs. It was still light out but Gen's room was dark when they ventured inside, finding her sitting on the bed, staring into space. Her eyes were red, her skin blotchy from crying all day. Root felt her heart clench and wished she'd tried harder to comfort Gen earlier.

"What do you want?" Gen muttered when they came in. "Go away."

"We made you dinner," said Shaw. And maybe because she was determined, maybe because she didn't really believe Root had already tried and failed all day, she walked over to the bed with the tray and didn't have time to react when Gen lashed out.

"I don't want food," she hissed.

The tray went flying out of Shaw's hands, the orange juice splattering all over the wall and the pasta scattering over the floor. Shaw sighed heavily and neither of them tried to stop Gen when she stormed past them both and out of the room.

"Well, that went well," said Shaw when the sounds of her stomping footsteps down the stairs finally faded. "Now what?"

Now what indeed, Root thought. She'd never seen Gen so emotional, so angry and going by the look on Shaw's face, neither had she.

Root exhaled loudly and took a seat on the floor. Leaning back against Gen's bed, she shook her head. "I don't know. Should we go after her?"

Shaw looked around at the mess left in Gen's wake and wisely shook her head. "Maybe we should leave her just now."

What else could they do? Root closed her eyes and, despite only having met the woman once, she could easily picture Gen's mom. She remembered the cold, indifferent woman sitting opposite her in the prison visiting room and it was far too easy for her mind to imagine those last few minutes of her life. Did she have regrets? Did she die with Genrika's name on her lips?

She saw it coming, Root realised then. That was why she had been so horrible to Gen. She knew her life was leading towards this end and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The only thing she could do was make sure Gen was safe. That was why she had warned Root, after all. Wrote that letter so that, one day, Gen would hopefully understand.

But now, in her grief, Root thought Gen never would. There was too much pain, too much loss. And there was nothing Root or Shaw or anyone could do to take that away.

"What do we do?" Root asked. She still had her eyes closed and when she opened them again, she found Shaw on the floor beside her.

"I don't know," Shaw admitted, shaking her head. She had that lost look in her eyes again and Root had the urge to kiss it away, to let the flirty jokes and innuendos fall from her lips so that Shaw would scowl, roll her eyes. That was familiar. That she could handle. "I'm not sure how we help her."

"What if we can't?" said Root. She had been worrying about it all day, trying to pretend she wasn't. But in front of Shaw, she couldn't hide it. "What if she doesn't get over this?"

"She will," said Shaw. She sounded sure, but that didn't necessarily mean Shaw believed her own words. And at Root's doubtful look, and quite uncharacteristic of Sameen Shaw to be so forward, she put an arm around Root's shoulders and pulled her closer. "She will," she repeated. "She has to."

Root smiled at the assurance, closed her eyes when she felt Shaw's lips against her temple. "This is nice."

"Hm," Shaw grunted and already Root could tell by the stiffening of her shoulders that she was struggling not to pull away. “I don’t get it though,” Shaw added after a moment and it took a second for Root to realise she was back to talking about Gen. “Her mom never gave a shit, Gen barely knew her. Why is she so…”

“Because she was her mom,” said Root. “It doesn’t matter what she did. You can hate them and they can be terrible but part of you will always love them.”

Shaw was quiet for a moment and Root wondered if she was thinking about the parents who loved her unconditionally. She wondered what that was like, to not have a parent who blamed you for everything that was wrong in their lives, who loved and supported you. Maybe, if Sam Groves had had that, she wouldn’t have turned into Root.

"We should do this more often," said Root, changing the subject and fighting back a yawn. If she wasn't careful, she would fall asleep right here on the floor against Shaw. "I mean, it's not like we have anything better to do."

"I don't do cuddling," Shaw mumbled tiredly. Maybe they both would fall asleep, Root thought. Then maybe they would never wake up, wouldn't have to deal with Gen, Volkov, the Machine... whoever else got in their way.

"But you gotta admit you like it a little," said Root. She smiled, knowing Shaw would be rolling her eyes this time.

"Nope."

"Liar."

"Prove it."

Root grinned. "I always did love a challenge."

"Yeah but you're a sore loser," said Shaw. "So I'll have to deal with you after."

"Is that you're way of admitting you like cuddling me?"

"No," said Shaw flatly. "That's my way of telling you to shut up. You're ruining the moment."

Root grinned wider.

"Don't," Shaw warned, but it was half-hearted at best.

"Awh, we're having a moment?" said Root gleefully. She closed her eyes, leaned closer into Shaw; inhaling her scent, feeling her strength and wishing she had some of her own. Most of hers left her a long time ago. "That's nice."

"Yeah," said Shaw. "I guess."

"It's okay," said Root. She was speaking softer now, lower than a mumble. She felt peaceful for the first time in what felt like days and didn't want it to end. But she knew it couldn't last. Nothing ever did. Not anymore. "I won't tell anyone. Your reputation is safe with me."

"Yeah yeah," said Shaw. She shrugged slightly, pushing Root up. "We should clean this mess up."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Root reluctantly. The house was still, quiet. Root didn't like it. "I should go check on Gen."

Shaw shook her head as she rose to her feet, smiling slightly. "Any excuse to get out of cleaning up, huh?"

Root smirked, kissed Shaw on the cheek once she got to her feet. "Well you'll do a better job anyway."

She left Shaw to it, went downstairs and found Gen out in the backyard sitting on the decking and staring at her bare feet as she tugged up tufts of grass with her toes.

"I know you want to be left alone," said Root quietly and before Gen could have another outburst added, "and that's okay. But you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know," said Root. "But you can't hide in your room all day crying forever."

It was the wrong thing to say and she knew it was even before the words left her mouth. Gen glanced over her shoulder, her glare cold and hard and with so much loathing Root was taken aback by it.

"You can't tell me what to do."

Root sighed. This was getting them nowhere. And when Gen turned away from her again she headed back inside, fighting back her own tears that she was getting sick of.

But it was this place. It made her emotional. More emotional than she had ever been. Like everything she had held back over the years was suddenly let out and there wasn't anything she could do to stop it.

*

Gen stayed hidden in her room over the next several days, but judging by the dwindling contents of the refrigerator, she _was_ eating. Just not at an hour when Root and Shaw could catch her. Perhaps it was even for the best that she slept through most of the day. And a small part of Root's mind was glad that meant that she didn't have to deal with her. It was selfish, yes, but it was better than saying the wrong thing and making things worse. She was kind and gentle when she could be, on those rare occasions she crossed paths with Gen or went up to check on her. Otherwise she remained well out of her way, worked from home as best she could.

Shaw, on the other hand, was getting impatient. And it wasn't until the weekend, when the clinic was closed and she was stuck at home with them both that she finally snapped and stormed up to Gen's room.

"You're done moping," Shaw said, ignoring the hand on her arm as Root tried to deter her.

Gen looked outraged, opened her mouth no doubt ready with a flood of wicked, unkind words that would do nothing to affect Shaw. But she never got them out. Shaw was firm and tough and borderline angry and Gen, knowing Shaw well enough by now, knew that the argument was over, that it hadn't even begun.

"You're going back to school on Monday. Clean your room. Do your homework and be downstairs for dinner in two hours."

With that, Shaw left the room.

Root lingered. Despite knowing many ways to get Shaw out of her foul mood, she knew now wasn't the time. And she was right, this brooding in her room all day wasn't helping Gen. She needed to get back into her routine and Root knew that part of Shaw blamed her for indulging Gen's self-misery over the last few days.

"I don't want to go back to school." Gen's voice was tiny. Gone was the anger, the spiteful words. She was a kid again and all Root wanted to do was wrap her arms around her and promise that everything was going to be okay. But it was a promise she couldn't keep and she couldn't bring herself to lie to Gen any more than she already had. "I just want to go home."

"I know, kiddo," said Root. She just didn't know what home was anymore.

She didn't think any of them did.

*

Of course it rained the day Gen went back to school and Root finally went back to work. And not just the usual light drizzle they experienced every now and then in Bishop, but a full blown thunder storm. The news reported flash floods all over South Texas and by the time Root left work, side-stepping the buckets left out to contend with the leaking roof, the roads were like rushing streams of rivers. Her feet were soaked in an instant and Shaw had to pick both her and Gen up despite it only being a short walk to the house.

Gen was quiet, but didn't make a fuss as Shaw grabbed towels for them all to dry off and proceeded to make hot chocolate to warm up their shivering bodies.

"How was school?" Root asked, blowing into her mug to cool the burning liquid down.

Gen shrugged in response and Root figured that was better than silence.

"Did anyone ask why you were absent?" asked Shaw and, at Root's reproachful look, she shrugged. Well, Root supposed, they did need to establish some sort of cover story. One as close to the truth as possible. Just not _too_ close.

"No," said Gen. She hadn't touched her hot chocolate and placed the still full mug onto the coffee table and reached into her backpack. "I'm supposed to give you this."

She handed a slightly sodden form to Root who quickly glanced it over. "Consent form?"

"There's a history trip on Friday. We're going to Corpus Christi to some museum thing. Can I go?"

"You want to go?" Root asked, surprised. She would have thought Gen would be resistant to this sort of thing. She hated everything about Texas, school included. But, Root remembered, history was one of the few classes Gen shared with her friend Meg Grayson. Even if they were supposed to be keeping their friendship low-key. After all, Cody couldn't shield his daughter twenty-four hours a day. He was all talk, just like he always had been.

"I guess," said Gen, shrugging. "It might be fun. And it means I miss double math."

Shaw snorted. "Can't blame you for that."

"Okay," said Root, sharing a look with Shaw to confirm. "You can go."

For the first time in days, Gen smiled. And once Root had scrawled her signature on the space on the form and handed it back to her, she picked up her mug of hot chocolate and sipped at it quite happily. Over the top of her head, Shaw smiled at Root.

 _Progress_ , that smile said. Although Root still had her doubts, her fears. It was still too soon. Still raw. But yes, progress. And when Gen disappeared up to her room after she had finished her drink, Root didn't take it as a bad sign. She was eating, out of the house, interacting with people again. She would be okay. In time, she would move past this. Learn to live with the pain until it didn't hurt quite so much.

*

But Root's hope that things were moving forward quickly disappeared when Friday came around.

Work was fairly hectic, as usual, and Root was eager for the weekend. She almost didn't answer her phone when the call came, she was so busy. But her constant alertness, state of fear, of being on edge all week, prompted her to answer it, despite the number she didn't recognise.

It was the teacher in charge of Gen's school trip. He introduced himself over the phone, all polite and Texan and Root knew instantly something was wrong.

There had been an accident. Gen was fine for the most part, he assured her quickly before she could panic. But they were at the ER and Root should get there right away.

She hung before she could get any more details, gathered up her things and called Shaw to tell her she needed the car. She got Shaw's voicemail, left a quick message and was glad she had the foresight weeks ago to carry the spare set of keys with her. She figured Shaw was busy with a patient and the car was in the lot when she got to the clinic after half-running the three blocks to get there.

It wasn't until she was driving, hasty and erratic and a miracle she didn't have an accident herself that she wished she had asked Gen's teacher for more details. What kind of accident? What were Gen's injuries? She considered asking the Machine, but part of her didn't want to know just yet. What if it was bad? How could she continue driving knowing that?

So she kept silent, felt her ears buzzing and abandoned the car down a side street when she finally made it to Driscoll Children's Hospital.

Inside the busy ER, she was irate to discover a line at the reception desk, considered skipping the queue regardless of the sick and injured people in front of her. She didn't even know what Gen's teacher looked like, glanced around the waiting area but couldn't recognise anyone near Gen's age as being one of her classmates.

"Miss Groves?"

Root nearly jumped out of her skin, but she quickly turned to face the man behind her.

He looked worried, but with a kind face that offered her a small smile. "I'm Harlan Jones."

Ignoring the hand offered to her, Root said, "Where's Gen?"

"In one of the exam rooms," said Harlan, dropping his hand back awkwardly to his side. "They're waiting on her x-rays coming back."

"X-rays?"

Harlan nodded. "They think she broke her arm."

"What the hell happened?" Root demanded. She could feel herself getting angry at this idiot who was supposed to have been looking after Gen and had to force herself to take a deep breath, remain calm. But screw calmness. Root vowed to make him pay, and anyone else who was involved in hurting Gen.

"Uh," Harlan began, cowering slightly in the face of Root's wrath. "Gen and some of her classmates snuck off while we were inside the museum. The building's pretty old, under repairs. Apparently some of the boys dared her to climb up a set of scaffolding and, well..."

"Well what?" said Root. "Why the hell weren't you watching them?"

"Look," Harlan sighed. "I had forty kids on this trip. They're all old enough to know they shouldn't have been sneaking off. It's not-"

"Not what?" Root snapped. But Harlan kept his mouth firmly shut, his face going red. Perhaps he was only just realising how difficult Root could make his life. "Nevermind," said Root, shaking her head. "Just tell me where Gen is."

"This way," said Harlan. He led her past the reception desk and down a hallway. At the end was a door marked 'Exam Root 6' where Harlan came to a stop. "She's in there. I need to call the school."

Root ignored him and he left in a hurry, not looking back. Knocking on the door, Root let herself into the exam room. She found Gen sitting on a gurney, cradling her left arm and staring at the floor. Her face was pale, probably the shock of her fall, but otherwise she looked okay.

"Hey, kiddo." Root shut the door behind her and moved towards Gen. "Are you okay?"

Gen shrugged, winced slightly as pain shot through her arm.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"No," Gen muttered and Root didn't push any further. Not yet. There would be time for that later. Her priority right now was making sure Gen was okay.

"Does it hurt?" asked Root. "Did they give you something for the pain?"

"It's okay," said Gen snappishly. "I'm fine."

Root heard the lie, the bravado and wished Gen would just talk to her instead of always hiding behind her sullenness. But if she pushed too hard it inevitably shut Gen down. She would talk in her own time. And if that never came... well, there wasn't much Root could do about it.

Behind her, the door to the exam room opened and a man in his thirties wearing a set of green hospital scrubs entered. He paused at the sight of Root, forced a smile on his face that was too strained to be polite.

"Ah, you must be Gen's mother."

"She's not my mom," Gen snapped angrily. The doctor flinched, glanced between them both, suddenly looking unsure of Root's presence. Root thought he was about one second away from calling security on her.

"I'm sort of her foster mother," Root said quickly, but even that seemed to make Gen agitated.

The doctor looked at her pointedly. "Perhaps you should wait outside until I'm finished."

She wanted to protest, to insist that wasn't necessary, but one look at Gen and she knew she wasn't wanted here. It hurt, to say the least, and it took everything Root had to maintain her composure as she left the room. Out in the hallway, she turned to face the exam room, flinched when the doctor shut the door in her face.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She should be in there, supporting Gen.

But Gen didn't want her. And maybe she never would again.

The thought left Root cold, sad and lonely and she suddenly hated the smell, the sounds of this place. She wanted to go home. Even Bishop was better than this.

Her cell phone rang and for a moment Root didn't hear it. When she eventually answered it, she found Shaw on the other end of the line and Root vaguely remembered her hasty voicemail message and knew Shaw, despite appearances, was concerned.

"She's fine," Root said quickly. "They think she broke her arm."

"What? How?"

"She fell from some scaffolding," Root explained.

"What the hell was she doing up there?"

Root sighed, rubbed at her temples and glanced at the exam room, having that exact same thought herself. "Apparently it was a dare."

Shaw swore under her breath. "I'm coming up there. I'll take a cab."

"No," Root blurted, remembering how Gen had reacted to her. The last thing they needed was to overwhelm her with Shaw being here too. "She's fine, really."

"Are you sure?" Shaw asked.

"I think so," said Root and knew that, physically, yes Gen was okay. Emotionally... not so much.

"Okay," said Shaw, sounding less hasty, calmer. "See if you can get me a copy of her x-rays, I want to take a look."

Root smiled. "I'll try."

"And Root?"

"Yeah."

Shaw paused for a moment. "Are you okay?"

It was a question Root wasn't sure how to answer anymore.

And when she was silent too long, Shaw said her name and Root could hear the worry in her voice. It made her smile. It wasn't often Shaw let it show.

"I'm fine," Root said. "We'll see you at home."

"Okay," said Shaw and hung up.

Root slipped her phone back into her pocket just as the exam room door opened and the doctor came out. He had Gen's chart in his hand and he stared at Root for a moment, like he didn't believe her foster parent story. But maybe the visible worry on Root's face convinced him of who she was and eventually he smiled, that same forced one again.

"Gen's arm is fractured," he explained. "It'll be in a cast for the next few weeks."

"But she's okay?"

He nodded. "She'll be fine. Maybe a little in pain, but over-the-counter pain meds should keep it under control."

Root sighed in relief.

"She'll need to come back in about six weeks to get it checked out, but she's young and healthy, it should heal up okay."

"Do you mind if I get a copy of her x-rays?" Root asked. "So the family doctor can take a look."

He paused for a moment, as if this was an unusual request, before nodding. "Alright. I'll have the nurse get it for you. Was there anything else you needed?"

Root shook her head and he disappeared to go deal with his next patient.

Alone, Root took a deep breath before venturing back inside the exam room. Gen's arm was now in a sling and she still looked deathly pale.

"You ready to get out of here, kiddo?"

Gen nodded and didn't say a word as Root led her out.

It took another half hour to deal with the insurance details - and Root silently thanked the Machine for creating them such an elaborate cover, including the necessary health insurance and documents that said Root, or rather Samantha Groves, was Gen's legal guardian - and by the time they were finished, a nurse had brought Root a copy of Gen's x-rays and it was time to go.

Harlan Jones was still hanging around the waiting area and when he saw them leaving he smiled in relief at the sight of Gen. No doubt her injury was the only thing deterring him from giving her a stern talk about sneaking off during a field trip and instead he tried to engage her in conversation, made a joke about her getting out of gym class. But Gen didn't smile, didn't even acknowledge him and eventually Root insisted that they had to get home, Gen needed rest and eventually they got rid of him.

Even during the car ride back to Bishop Gen was quiet and as soon as they got home she went straight up to her room, ignoring Shaw's inquisitive gaze and eager hands wanting to assess Gen's broken arm herself.

"Here," said Root, handing her the x-rays. Shaw took them eagerly and held them up to the light to inspect them. "The doctor said she'll be in the cast for about six weeks."

"Humeral shaft fracture," Shaw muttered.

"Is that bad?" Root bit her lip.

"No," said Shaw. "It's not that common for a fall, but it happens. She explain herself yet?"

Root shook her head. "I didn't think it was a good idea to push."

"Maybe not," said Shaw. "But she should know better than to sneak off."

Root agreed, but rather got the impression that Gen just didn't care anymore about keeping herself safe. And hadn't for a long time. Not since she had tried to send that letter and failed.

*

After the weekend, Gen went back to school, albeit a little reluctantly. And things seemed to be going okay, for the most part. Gen was quiet, but it was better than her angry outbursts and both Root and Shaw allowed themselves to believe they were over the worst of it.

They were fools, both of them.

Because of course it wasn't over. It never would be over for Gen.

So when Root got another phone call from the school, she wasn't surprised or angry. Concerned, yes; but if she was being honest with herself, she knew it was coming.

They didn't tell her over the phone what it was about, but the school secretary informed her that Principal Dawson wished to see her right away, that it was considered an emergency. Yes, Gen was fine. No, this couldn't wait until the end of the school day. Resigned, Root sighed and left work early. Again. She caught the frown on the vice principal's face on her way out and decided she didn't care all that much if they fired her. Keeping Gen in check these days was becoming a full time job all on its own.

When she got to Luehrs, not even five minutes later, it was to find Gen sitting sullenly outside the principal's office.

"What did you do?" Root asked before Dawson could come out of her office. Gen shrugged and Root didn't really expect an answer anyway. She was just relieved Gen was, once again, alright.

She wasn't looking forward to this discussion with Dawson, however. And as she predicted, it was icy and Root felt like both she and Gen were on the firing line. She barely listened as Dawson explained how Gen had gotten into a fight during lunch break. The same girl from a few weeks before. Apparently she had a broken nose and had to be sent to the ER.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to suspend Gen."

"Wait, what?" said Root, straightening up slightly in her seat. _Now_ she was listening. "You can't. She'll apologise to the kid and-"

"It's too late for apologies," said Dawson. “This isn't the first time Gen has been involved in an incident like this."

"I know," said Root reasonably. "But she's going through a tough time right now."

"That doesn't matter," Dawson said. "I cannot tolerate violence in this school, no matter the circumstances. One week suspension, then we'll review when Gen comes back."

"Don't do this," said Root, clenching the armrests of her seat tightly. "Not because of me."

Quite unprofessionally, Dawson snorted. "This isn't about you. This is about Gen. I'm sorry but it isn't up for discussion. I hope Gen learns from this. You also might consider getting her some help."

"Help?" said Root.

"Yes," Dawson sighed. "Gen's guidance counsellor informed me that Gen has some very profound anger issues, amongst other things."

"That's-"

"What?" said Dawson, leaning back in her seat. "None of my concern? While Gen attends this school it is. And if there are underlying issues surrounding her behaviour then for the sake of Gen's - plus her fellow students - wellbeing, she needs something done about it."

But that was the last thing they needed; Gen seeing a shrink, spilling everything. It was far too risky. But Dawson was right. Gen needed help, that much was obvious. And, once again, Root just didn't know how to do that and ended up leaving Dawson's office feeling more useless than ever.

Gen didn't talk on the walk back to the house and although Root was keen to get her side of the story, she quickly gave up trying to get anything out of her. By the time they got back to the house, Shaw's car was in the drive. She had been leaving work earlier and earlier each day since Gen broke her arm, but even she was at a loss as to what they could do to help Gen. Today was different though, Root was sure and when they went inside, found Shaw waiting for them in the living room, Root knew the Machine had already informed Shaw that Gen had been suspended.

"Am I grounded too?" said Gen sullenly before Shaw could say anything. "It's not like I go anywhere so why does it matter?"

"Gen..." said Root.

"Can I go to my room?"

Shaw nodded and, as usual, Gen stormed sullenly up the stairs to her room.

"Did the other kid at least deserve it?" Shaw asked once the familiar slam of Gen's bedroom door could be heard.

Root shrugged. "I don't know, she didn't tell me anything. I suppose it doesn't matter. One week’s suspension. I guess we should be grateful she wasn't expelled."

Suddenly, Shaw smiled and for the life of her, Root couldn't figure out what was so amusing about all of this.

"Pretty impressive though," said Shaw. "Winning a fight one handed."

Root rolled her eyes. Of course Shaw would be proud of that. "We're supposed to reprimand her."

Shaw shrugged. "Think she's had enough of that for one day."

Maybe, Root thought. But Gen needed to learn her actions had consequences. That just because she hated it here, didn't mean she could do whatever she wanted as if it didn't matter. That was Root's fault, perhaps. She hadn't exactly set a good example lately. What with attacking Cody Grayson, bringing the waitress from the Mexican place home... She was just another bad influence infecting Gen's life and there was nothing she could do to take it back.

"Her principal thinks she has anger issues and should talk to someone about it," Root said, she pulled off her jacket and sat down heavily on the couch.

Shaw snorted. "We hardly need a shrink to tell us that. We know what's wrong."

Root shook her head. Knowing didn't matter. "She needs help, Shaw."

Shaw sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. "I know. But we can't risk her telling someone about who she is, why we here."

"Then what do we do?"

Frowning for a moment in thought, Shaw sat down on the arm of the couch beside Root. Her hand automatically reached out to the muscles on Root's neck and shoulders, rubbing the tension away. Root let out a moan, leaning into her. She wasn't sure why now, if it was a direct result of this thing with Gen, but Shaw had been far more affectionate these past few days than Root ever experienced before. Not that she was about to complain. It was nice, even if half the time Shaw looked like she was well out of her comfort zone.

"I might have an idea," said Shaw, standing up abruptly. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Where are you going?" Root asked, shooting her a puzzled look as Shaw grabbed the car keys and pulled her jacket on.

"You'll see," said Shaw, kissing Root briefly before she left and deterring anymore questions.

She returned a few hours later, carrying a plain white bag and looking smug.

"What's that?" Root asked.

"For Gen."

Root raised an eyebrow. "She gets suspended from school and you buy her gifts?"

But Shaw only grinned, heading upstairs, leaving Root to follow her out of sheer curiosity.

Shaw knocked on Gen's bedroom door, waited for Gen to let her in.

"Are you gonna lecture me?" Gen asked, eyeing Shaw nervously, then glancing at Root hovering by the doorway.

"No," said Shaw. "Sit down for a second."

She led Gen over to the bed and sat on the edge of it beside her.

"I know what happened was bad," said Shaw. "No one is denying that. Or blaming you for taking it hard. But you got a lot of anger there kid and that's not good for anybody."

"That bitch-"

"I don't care what happened," said Shaw and upended the bag to let the contents fall onto the bed. "I was like you, when I was your age. Angry about stuff. Got into a few fights myself."

It wasn't often that Shaw talked about her childhood. In fact, she never did. It took her a long time to talk to Root about it and she imagined this was the first time she was opening up to Gen too. It had the desired effect. Now she had Gen's undivided attention.

"Did you get suspended too?" Gen asked.

"No," said Shaw. "But I came close. Then someone who meant a lot to me told me to channel that anger somewhere else. Be productive about it. Less violent. I would have preferred boxing but I guess I was a little too young. So..." She gestured to the pile on Gen's bed and Root strained to get a better look, surprised by what she saw. Several sketch pads, drawing pencils. Even some paints.

"Art supplies?" said Gen sceptically.

Shaw shrugged. "It kept me occupied. Out of trouble."

"I didn't know you could draw," said Gen.

 _Me neither_ , Root thought and stared at Shaw, awed by this knew information.

"I didn't say I was any good at it," said Shaw. She was being modest, thought Root. And had the unquenchable desire to see some of Sameen Shaw's art work. What did she draw? She could hardly picture someone like Shaw drawing still life’s and landscapes.

"But what if I'm no good at it?" said Gen. She picked up one of the sketch pads with her good hand and stared at it. "I've never drawn before."

"It's okay," said Shaw. "You'll learn with practice. And no one else has to see it." She paused, glancing around the room and picked up one of Gen's discarded comics off the floor. "You could start by trying to copy what you see, then go from there."

Gen still looked doubtful, but Root could tell she was touched by the gesture. Simply by the fact that this was something clearly personal for Shaw. Something she was sharing with Gen.

"Just try it," Shaw said. "Whenever you think about your mom. When you get angry or sad... just draw and don't think."

Well... it _was_ cheaper, safer, than a shrink. It wasn't the help Root had been anticipating but by this point she was willing to try anything.

"Okay, I'll try it," Gen said eventually.

"Good," said Shaw and smiled. "Because you are definitely grounded. Which means no TV. No laptop. By the end of the week, you'll be tons better."

Gen opened her mouth to protest, but wisely snapped it shut at the last second. Not even her pleading glance to Root could save her when Shaw unplugged her laptop to take it away.

Out in the hallway, with Gen's bedroom door shut once again, Shaw grinned smugly.

"It hasn't worked yet," said Root. But she had a good feeling about this all the same.

Shaw shrugged. "Just wait. What?" she added, when Root smirked at her.

"You draw?" said Root.

Shaw rolled her eyes in the face of Root's amusement. "Yeah, so? It's no big deal."

"Well, Sameen Shaw," Root crowed. "Aren't you just full of surprises?"


	43. Part 3: Chapter 43

"Wow," said Root, flicking through Gen's sketchbook. "These are good."

From the bed, Gen shrugged. "They're okay, I guess. I mostly just copied my favourite panels."

"Still," said Root. She was no art expert, but even she could tell Gen had talent, even if Gen herself had no confidence about her abilities. "Have you tried drawing your own?"

"Not yet," said Gen. She took the sketch pad from Root's hand and quickly shut it, her cheeks going pink with embarrassment. "I think I need more practice first."

She had certainly had plenty this week. Root couldn't afford to take any more time off work so Gen had to spend her time at the clinic with Shaw. Perhaps it had sunk in, how much trouble she was in after her fight at school, because she remained on her best behaviour, caught up on her homework and drew when she could, keeping out of everyone's way while Shaw was working. Not that she could get herself into too much trouble with one arm. But this new quietness in favour of the angry outbursts, while better, was still unsettling to Root. She missed the old Gen. The one with a cheeky smile, the eager wannabe spy learning the tricks of the trade. But Gen seemed to have grown out of that a long time ago. It made Root sad and she wondered if Gen wouldn't have grown out of it had they still been in New York, if her father hadn't upheaved their lives and made them come here.

"So what are you up to today, kiddo?" Root asked.

Gen shrugged. "I'm still grounded, aren't I?"

She was. Root and Shaw had agreed that Gen was to stay in the house, no TV or laptop until she went back to school on Monday. But Root was starting to think that Gen had served her punishment well, that she had been through enough already.

A loud rumbling sounded through the walls and Gen frowned, staring at them nervously as if expecting something to suddenly burst out of them.

"What was that?"

"Shaw," said Root with a sigh. "She's trying to fix the faucet in the kitchen."

"Oh," said Gen and her frown of worry only grew deeper. "Normal people call a plumber."

Root shrugged. Try telling Shaw that. "Yeah, well... That's why I came up here. Water's off until it's fixed. So that means no shower."

Gen looked horrified. "So what am I supposed to do?"

Root held back a smirk. "Should have gotten up earlier, kiddo."

"Like you're always up early," Gen muttered under her breath to Root's retreating back. She had a point; it was Saturday and Root would have gladly slept until noon if it wasn't for Shaw prodding her awake at an ungodly hour and forcing her to shower as she went out for supplies. She came back with an array of tools and the last time Root had checked up on her she found the faucet in pieces on the kitchen table and Shaw's head beneath the sink.

She decided it was best not to ask why.

And under the sink Shaw remained, when Root ventured back downstairs, hearing a monologue of curses, varied and unique. Root was sure she caught a few different languages in there too. Root watched for a moment, grinning. Shaw was dressed in a pair of old sweatpants. Her usual black tank top had ridden up a little as she lay on the floor on her back to get a good look at the pipes. It left Root with a good view of her abs and she decided that maybe Shaw fixing the pipes herself wasn't a bad idea after all.

"How's it going?" Root asked loudly. There was a clatter as Shaw dropped the wrench in her hand, a yelp of pain and more curses, before her head popped out to glare at Root.

"Fine," Shaw muttered darkly. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" said Root, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "We _are_ going to have the water back on by tonight, right?"

"Um..." Shaw began.

"Sameen," said Root it what she hoped was a stern voice. As entertaining a show as this was, she would rather not live without hot water for the foreseeable future.

"I'll fix it," Shaw promised. "Don't worry."

"Who's worried?" Root muttered. She pulled out her phone pointedly. "I still have the plumber's number."

Shaw scowled, sat up and snatched the phone from Root's dangling hand. "No. I told you I would do this. I don't care if it takes all weekend."

"We're not going to have water all weekend?" Root groaned.

"Would you just..." Shaw gestured at Root to get out and leave her be. Glaring until Root finally sighed and made herself scarce.

She still had some work to catch up on, but every time she settled down to do it, the pipes made that awful rumbling sound again, followed by the sound of Shaw clattering her wrench against them and Root lost all focus. Even Gen looked annoyed by the time she appeared down the stairs, still in her pyjamas and whining about wanting a shower.

"Later," Root promised and decided not to tell Gen later might mean next week.

It wasn't until lunchtime that Root dared to go back into the kitchen, which she discovered in even more of a mess.

"I need caffeine," Root complained. "And _someone_ forgot to fill the coffee pot this morning."

Shaw, unsurprisingly, ignored her complaint.

"How much longer are you going to be?" Root asked. "Look, it's okay if you can't fix them. We can afford a plumber now that we're both working."

Shaw had stilled and although she remained silent, Root knew she had been listening. It was the heavy way that she let the wrench fall to her side, the sigh and quite frankly pathetic way she continued to lie there that let Root know this wasn't just about some leaking faucet.

"Sameen," said Root softly and knelt down beside her. She placed a hand on Shaw's knee, felt the body heat radiating off Shaw and knew that if she had been standing and not stuck with her head beneath the sink then she would have quite gladly walked away from this conversation and avoided it. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Shaw muttered.

"Well that's a lie," said Root. "I've never seen you like this before."

The muscles beneath Root's hand stiffened and in a second, Shaw had shuffled out from beneath the sink and sat up next to Root.

"Like what?" she said, frowning.

"So... I don't know," said Root. "Obsessive."

Shaw snorted.

"Well you are," said Root. "It's just a stupid pipe. It doesn't matter if you can't fix it."

"Yes it does," Shaw muttered.

"Why?" asked Root. Shaw looked away and Root gave up on getting an answer. She made to stand up, but a moment later Shaw sighed and she remained still where she was, despite the cramp in her legs.

"Because I have to fix something around here," Shaw mumbled. "You, Gen... you're both..."

Smiling sadly, Root shifted so she was sitting beside Shaw, stretching her legs out to remove the pain in her muscles.

"Sameen..."

"I can't help you guys," Shaw interrupted quickly. "But at least I can fix this."

Root looked away, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She had known for a while now that Shaw was vastly out of her element; that coming to Bishop, living this "normal" life wasn't easy for her. It wasn't easy for any of them. But Shaw had been frustrated, temperamental despite keeping it in check for most of the time, and Root couldn't say she was surprised that Shaw was seeking other outlets for it.

"If you ask me," said Root, "you did a pretty good job helping Gen. She's been better since you got her that art stuff." And although Gen was still hurting, grieving for the mother she had lost, she _was_ getting better. It would be a long journey, but surely Shaw could see the progress that had been made, the role she had played in it. "And as for me," Root continued. She bit her lip, picked at a loose thread on her pant leg before going on. It didn't matter how hard anyone tried, she was sure there was nothing that could be done to help _her_. "As for me... I don't need you to fix me. Having you here, with me, it's enough."

"Is it?" said Shaw, standing up abruptly. She tossed the wrench onto the counter, her back to Root and the tension in her shoulders was visible. "Root... you keep me at a distance and I don't why. It's like... I don't know... I don't know what you want from me. Whenever we... you stop it. Like I'm doing something wrong."

"You're not," said Root quickly. “You’re not doing anything wrong.” She climbed to her feet, stepped close to Shaw and reached out. But Shaw flinched away from her, eyes dark when she turned around.

"Then why won't-"

Root's lips on hers cut her off and she pushed Shaw roughly up against the counter. Surprised, Shaw remained still for a moment and when Root's hands reached for her hips, fingertips feeling for the warm, soft skin underneath her clothes, Shaw pushed her away.

"Don't," Shaw said. "I know what you're trying to do and don't."

"What am I trying to do?" said Root. She folded her arms across her chest tightly, unnerved by the rejection.

"You're avoiding it," said Shaw. "Whatever is going on with you... you're avoiding telling me."

Root looked away, not knowing what to say. It was true. She was and it was only then she realised she was hurting Shaw in the process. But the alternative would hurt too and the silence, although thick and suffocating was so much better than any explanation she could give.

“I’m sorry,” Root muttered, knowing her apologies weren’t going to cut it. She could see the flash of anger in Shaw’s eyes, the annoyance that let Root know that she was only pushing Shaw away.

Again.

And, perhaps, there was hurt there too. Just for a millisecond before Shaw's mask went back up, her face neutral, sour and Root knew there it would remain for as long as she continued her silence.

"I'm hungry, what's for lunch?"

Root jumped at the sound of Gen's voice, her eyes still on Shaw, hesitant. But Shaw was done with their conversation and as soon as she turned to Gen, Root knew it was too late to come back from this, that she had damaged something she wasn't sure how to fix.

"I'll make you a sandwich," Shaw muttered and headed to the fridge.

She made sandwiches for them all and they ate in a silence that was overwhelming to Root and yet she wasn't sure what she could say. Gen had to notice, but she too remained quiet, like she had finally learned snooping in other people's business had a limit, a line she couldn't cross and with Root and Shaw she had finally reached it.

"Did you finish all your homework?" Root asked, when the silence finally became too much.

Gen nodded. "I think I'm going to practice drawing some more today."

"That's great," said Root. She glanced at Shaw, scowling down at her sandwich. Root didn't even know if she was listening anymore. "How about we watch a movie later?"

The hint of a smile formed at the corners of Gen's mouth. "I thought I was grounded. No TV."

"You are," said Root. "Which is why I get to pick the movie."

Shaw groaned, much to Root's surprise. "We are _not_ watching some lame Hallmark movie."

"Well we're not watching Star Wars again," Root countered playfully, letting out a smile. Shaw was mad at her but at least she wasn't getting the cold shoulder. Not yet.

"Star Wars is a classic," Shaw said.

Root snorted. "It's dumb. Why fight with swords when you can have a gun."

"They're lightsabers," Shaw said, incredulous. " _Not_ swords."

"Whatever," Root muttered and Gen giggled from behind her sandwich. "Maybe we should let Gen pick after all."

Shaw scowled at that, not because Gen's taste in movies was overly bad, but because they had yet to discuss, exactly, when Gen's punishment would be over. Of course Shaw would want to be strict about it, but for Root, it was enough to see Gen smiling again that she didn't want to do anything to force it away.

"How about-" Gen began with her suggestion, but Shaw quickly cut her off.

"If you say the Avengers sequel I will put my foot through the TV."

"That's a bit extreme, Sameen," said Root, but she was smiling and so was Gen and, she thought, in the end it didn't really matter what movie they watched. She was just looking forward to the three of them doing something together. It had been far too long.

"Well I'm not watching anything until I'm done in here," said Shaw. She stood up with her empty plate, made to take it to the sink and remembered at the last second that she couldn't rinse it. Instead she placed it on the counter, frowned at her handiwork in that way that had Root itching to call the plumber, finally, and get this place back to normal.

"Uh," said Gen hesitantly, "you _can_ fix it, right? Because I _need_ to shower before going back to school."

"I can fix it," said Shaw sourly, glaring at them both. "Before the afternoon is over. Just watch."

Root and Gen shared a doubtful look, but both of them were wise enough not say anything to the contrary. And eventually, once she had finished her lunch, gotten bored watching Shaw examine the pipes, Gen disappeared up to her room to draw. Staying where she was, Root watched Shaw carefully, knowing that Shaw was hyper aware of her eyes on her. But even as Root's look turned lascivious when Shaw bent down to retrieve a fallen part of the inner workings of the sink, she continued to ignore Root.

Finally, now that they were alone, the cold shoulder arrived.

Root almost rolled her eyes. And yet, at the same time, appreciated that Shaw was attempting to keep up a pretence that everything was fine when Gen was around. The kid had been through enough and Shaw's awareness of that, the careful way she tried to protect Gen from their problems, tried to find unconventional ways to help her, all left Root with a feeling like her heart was going to fly out of her chest. It was overwhelming, the affection she felt for Shaw in that moment.

"Do you need any help?" Root asked.

"Nope," said Shaw.

Root sighed and left Shaw to it. Perhaps some time alone with her wrench would bring her around.

But about two hours later, Shaw appeared, ushering both Root and Gen into the kitchen with a grin on her face. The place was still a mess, but the faucet was back in place, the pipes looked intact and when Shaw made to turn the faucet on - with Gen taking a deliberate step behind Root just in case something exploded - she gave them both an expectant grin and told them to watch closely.

The water running as normal was rather anti-climactic in Root's opinion. At least the pipes weren't making that awful rumbling sound anymore. Shaw shut the water off, still grinning triumphantly despite Root and Gen's rather blank looks.

"See, no leak."

"Great," Gen muttered sullenly. "Can I go shower now?"

Shaw's face fell. "Yes, you can go shower now."

" _Finally_." Gen disappeared out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving Root hovering awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. The tension was still palatable between them, but she when she went over to Shaw, kissed her on the cheek in congratulations of a job well done, Shaw didn't pull away. Instead remained stiff, perhaps a little cold.

"I'm gonna go get changed," Shaw mumbled before Root could say anything. And when she walked away, it felt like something was stretching between them, an invisible piece of string that, if they weren't careful, if Root didn't do something, would snap and forever be broken.

"Sameen." Root grabbed her wrist and Shaw stilled in the silence of the kitchen. Overhead, Root heard the patter of the shower turning on. "Are we... I'm sorry."

"I know."

"But it's not enough, is it?" said Root, voicing her fear out loud for the first time.

Shaw sighed and, this time, when she made to leave, Root didn't try to stop her. "I don't know anymore."

Sucking in a shaky breath, Root watched her leave, wondering how long it would be before Shaw was walking out the front door, never to come back. But she knew Shaw never would. Not while Gen - while Root - still needed her. She would stay, but she would become distant. And, by then, Root would have lost her anyway.

And it would be all her fault.

All because she couldn't open her mouth, face her fears, her nightmares. Hiding was better, ignoring it. She just wasn't sure for how much longer she could.

Still, when Shaw ventured back downstairs, dressed in clean black clothes, some of the annoyance had disappeared, and she seemed almost eager to settle down and watch a movie with her and Gen. She didn't even complain at Gen's choice of some chick flick comedy. That, however, could have been due to the popcorn she was shovelling into her mouth and reluctant to share. And, perhaps, with Gen wedge in between them, the distance helped.

This wasn't their first movie night in Bishop, and usually Root's hands wandered - totally all by themselves, of course - and, some nights, Shaw wouldn’t mind, let them stay beneath her shirt, drawing lazy circles across her skin. Other times, she would scowl, almost playfully Root was sure, until the hands retreated back to where they belonged. It was entirely dependent on the movie and this one in particular would have, on a normal day, had Shaw welcoming those hands just to alleviate the boredom.

So of course, when Shaw made sure to sit as far away from Root as possible, Root took it personally. It stung and she found her vision blurred when she stared at the TV, her concentration so bad she had no idea what was going on.

After about an hour of sitting uncomfortably stiff and wanting to leave, to be anywhere else but here, to take Sameen upstairs and promise that things will be different, that she will try better, bare her soul and tell Shaw everything. But before she could do any of that, Shaw’s cell phone rang and she answered it quickly, ignoring Gen’s scowl of disapproval as she talked over the movie. All the same, she got up and retreated to the kitchen. Root followed, less out of curiosity and more because she was bored.

“Jeanne, slow down,” Shaw was saying calmly into the phone. “Tell me how far apart the contractions are.”

A patient, Root realised and suddenly thought she was intruding on something she shouldn’t. Shaw glanced at her, but didn’t scowl at her presence. She was too focused on her patient on the other end of the phone.

“Okay, that’s good,” said Shaw. “You still have lots of time. Do you have anyone who can take you to the hospital?”

Shaw closed her eyes when she got her answer and Root assumed it was a no.

Sighing, Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed out heavily before speaking again. “Okay… I’ll take you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“You’re going?” said Root as soon as Shaw hung up the phone.

Shaw shrugged, moving through the house in search of a pair of shoes. Root followed. “Don’t have much choice. It’s fine.”

“Have you ever even delivered a baby before?” said Root.

“Yes,” said Shaw, shaking her head in amusement. “It’s not that hard.”

Root snorted. “Sure.”

“Besides,” said Shaw, finding a pair of boots by the front door and pulling them on. “I’m only taking her to the hospital, not delivering the thing.”

“But what about movie night?” Gen’s voice was small, quiet. It was only then that Root realised she had muted the TV, was listening to their conversation.

"I'll only be gone for a little while," said Shaw and at Gen's doubtful look she sighed. "You guys finish the movie without me."

"Whatever," Gen muttered and turned back to the TV, unmuting it and turning the volume up high to drown out the sounds of their voices.

"Great," Shaw hissed under her breath.

"Don't worry about it," said Root. "She'll be fine after some more popcorn."

But Shaw looked like she didn't believe her and honestly Root didn't quite believe it herself. Despite the strain between the two of them, movie night had felt almost like things in this house were going back to normal. Gen getting upset at a little thing like Shaw having to leave in the middle of it wasn't a good sign.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," said Shaw. She took a long look at Gen before turning back to Root. "Call me if you need anything."

Root smiled, wondering if Shaw would have been like this previously, long before Root had ran away to go hunt Jason. If she would have put aside their differences out of concern for Gen. Maybe she would have, or maybe she had grown into the role while Root was away. Or, maybe and most likely, Root thought, she was just used to being mad at Root that it was easy to ignore it when she needed to.

It was a saddening thought and Root could only nod in answer before Shaw headed out the front door with the car keys in her hand. For a moment, Root believed this would be the last time she saw her. That Shaw with her dark hair and dark clothes would disappear into the darkness of the night, never to return. She shivered, shut the front door against the cold and headed back to the couch.

*

Gen went to bed suspiciously early as soon as the movie was over and nothing Root could say could convince her to stay, watch something else, talk... anything to fight the sudden loneliness that haunted Root. She couldn't shake it. The thought of going up to bed, empty and cold without Shaw, made her stay where she was on the couch. She didn't even have the energy to turn the TV back on. Not that she was in the mood to watch anything. She couldn't concentrate. Could only think about Shaw and how much she kept screwing up, how much she was hurting them both.

And for what?

In her mind, muddled and slow as it was these days, she thought that was pretty clear. She was trying to protect Shaw.

But Shaw never liked being protected. She did the protecting. Always. And her inability to protect Root, fix her, help Gen, all of it was throwing her off, making her snappy and impatient. Root shouldn't have been surprised about the cold shoulder, the outburst in the kitchen. It could have been worse. Perhaps she should have been grateful for that.

Just as her eyes began to droop, as the exhaustion that seemed to stay with her no matter how much she slept took over, there was a loud knock on the front door that startled Root into sitting up, alert. It took a moment for her to register what the disturbance was and she slowly climbed to her feet, assuming it was Shaw back from the hospital and had forgotten her keys.

But when she opened the door, Root was stunned into silence, hardly believing her eyes. The chill of the night air swept into the house, but Root could hardly feel it. She felt numb as she stared in confusion at the person before her. And, after a moment, when the silence finally became too much, when she could no longer bear those eyes on her that used to be so full of life and were now left empty and cold, she finally found her voice.

"Angie," Root breathed. It had been so long since that name had left her lips that it hardly felt real anymore. The woman in front of her didn't feel real. Yet here she was, in the flesh; pale and shivering in her oversized grey hoodie. Lips thin and standing stark pink against her flesh. Hair that used to be so vibrant now lay flat in a messy ponytail. And no matter how shit she looked, Root still felt that old attraction, that invisible thing that had drawn her to Angie in the first place. "What are you doing here?"

Angie's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. "After everything you've done, that's all you can say to me?"

"Angie..." said Root, noting the slur in her voice, the way she swayed slightly even as she stood motionless on the porch step. Root looked past her and saw the familiar beat up orange car. "You drove here? Like this?"

"Why?" said Angie. "It's not like you care."

"Come inside," said Root before she could change her mind. She made to take Angie's arm and pull her inside but at the last minute stepped aside to let her past. After the briefest of hesitations, Angie stepped over the threshold, her feet stumbling slightly. Root had seen her tipsy before but never this drunk and she caught the whiff of alcohol as Angie brushed past her.

"I was passing," said Angie, glancing around the living room as if she had never been here before. But Root caught the way she stared at the weights sitting beneath the coffee table, the ones Shaw had purchased a few weeks ago after deciding joining a gym up in Corpus Christi wasn't going to be feasible with her work schedule. "I guess you could say I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I'd drop by. It's been a while."

Root knew exactly how long it had been. Could count the days in her head and not one of them had gone by where she hadn't thought about what she had done to Angie, how she had ruined her life, broke her heart. She was a frequent recurrence in Root's dreams. The vision of her crumpled on the floor in the bookstore stock room as Root finally told her the truth. But in her dreams, Angie was always angrier, lashing out at Root who stood motionless, accepting of whatever Angie would do to her. Sometimes she simply hammered her fists against Root's chest. In others, she had one of those pallet knifes used to open the boxes of books that came in the delivery. With that she would lash out at Root, heedless of the blood covering her hands and always Root would let her, wouldn't fight back. It was the least she deserved. And when she woke up, in a cold, shaky sweat, her breathing ragged, it was always with a feeling of disappointment that Angie hadn't just ended it all then.

Perhaps, if she had, then it would be easier for everyone.

But killing, violence in general, that wasn't who Angie was. She was better than that.

Unlike Root.

"Love what you've done with the place," said Angie and took a seat on the couch without asking. The look on her face, hard and almost malicious, dared Root to say something about it.

"Why are you here, Angie?" Root asked again. She was uncomfortably aware of Gen asleep upstairs, of the fact that Shaw could come home any moment. "Because I doubt it was to comment on my stagnant decor."

"I told you," said Angie. Now she kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet up beneath her on the couch. "I was in the neighbourhood."

"Right," said Root, shaking her head. She sighed when Angie wasn't forthcoming with an explanation. And did she really deserve one anyway? "I'll make some coffee."

"Don't go to any trouble," Angie said passive aggressively. "I wouldn't want to put you out."

"You're not," Root muttered, but Angie wasn't listening to her. She rested her head against the back of her couch with her eyes closed and, a few minutes later when Root returned with two mugs of coffee, she half expected Angie to be asleep. But she roused as soon as Root approached, took the coffee Root offered her with a mild scathing look like she was offended at this attempt to sober her up.

Angie took a sip and after a moment, Root said, "That's still the way you like it, right?"

"I'm surprised you even remember."

Root shrugged and sat on the opposite end of the couch. When Angie didn't protest or move away, she allowed herself to relax a little, take a sip of the coffee she didn't really want at this time of night.

They were silent and, in the gloominess of the living room, for the briefest of moments, Root forgot who she was sitting next to, allowed herself to believe the silence was comfortable, wanted. But of course it wasn't and Root, when she thought about it, really shouldn't have been surprised at the next words out of Angie's mouth.

"You ruined my life."

Root paused with her mug halfway to her lips. She suddenly felt sick at the thought of the sour, bitter liquid in her mouth, stomach, and placed the mug on the coffee table.

"I know."

Angie snorted and, to Root's ears, it sounded harsh. Lacked any amusement at all.

"No," said Angie. "You enjoy it, don't you? Hurting other people."

Root said nothing, the words trapped in her mouth, like the air that refused to leave her lungs. She felt them burn and when she finally exhaled, it was sharp and loud and the look of disgust on Angie's face caused her to turn away in shame.

"I never meant to hurt you."

But of course that didn't matter. Unintentional or not, the very fact that she did had broken something inside Angie. Broken them both and pulled them apart.

"Your parents..."

"Don't," Angie snapped. She slammed her mug onto the table and the contents spilled over in a rushing black wave. "Don't you dare talk about them like you ever gave a damn that they were murdered because of you."

When Angie stood up from the couch, body trembling from anger, she moved away and turned her back on Root. And it that moment, Root wanted nothing more than to reach out, hold her and take all the pain away. But that wasn't her place anymore and perhaps it never had been. Offering comfort wasn't something Root did with ease. Angie was right, she wasn't a caring person and she was a fool to believe she had changed. Yes, the guilt of all her past crimes haunted her night and day, but in the deepest, darkest parts of her, she knew that, given the chance to do it all over again, it was unlikely she would act differently.

The Machine had taught her that all life mattered, but to Root, that bad code philosophy she had lived by for so long was still relevant. Bad, cruel people still existed and Root wouldn't hesitate to kill them if she had to.

But Angie's parents weren't bad. As far as she could tell they had loved and supported their daughter. The true crime was that they weren't here now. That they couldn't watch as Angie worked towards her PhD, lived her life, loved, smiled.

And that was Root's fault. And because, for reasons she still didn't know, Angie had gotten to her, became a part of her that Root would carry always, she _did_ care. More than she cared for all those other lives she ruined. The deaths by her own hands didn't even matter. Here was Angie who Root had been close to, kissed carefully and caringly in the dark. She _mattered_. She hurt and Root wished with all her heart that she could take it away.

"You're right," Root said. "I didn't care. I never gave a damn so much that I forgot about them. And when you told me they had been killed... even then I didn't really remember. And you should hate me for that, because I may as well have pulled the trigger myself."

She didn't know what she was expecting. More silence, more anger. But when Angie turned around, there was nothing but pain on her face. It startled the breath out of Root's lungs. The pain was too familiar and she thought about Gen, upstairs asleep, the pain she was now living with every day. The pain that would never leave her.

"You don't get it," said Angie, shaking her head. Tears streamed from her eyes and Root had to look away. "I don't hate you. I can't."

Root frowned and when she looked at Angie again she saw it. That look, that openness. That love that Root had been so scared of and still was.

"Angie," said Root. Somehow she was standing, despite not remembering moving from the couch, and she was in front of Angie in an instant. "I don't-"

And then Angie was kissing her, heated and desperate and all too familiar.

Soft and warm. Root could taste the alcohol in her mouth. And it was that - and not the only reason why - that made Root pull away. Angie was drunk, not thinking clearly, borderline self-destructive. And perhaps Root was as well. She had most definitely not been thinking clearly when she invited Angie inside instead of turning her away, made her coffee and let her sit on the couch. And she wasn’t thinking now. Not with the clarity that came with the cold light of day. But she could feel the wrongness of this, buried deep beneath the temptation to keep kissing Angie for no other reason simply than she could. And it would mean nothing. To her anyway. To Angie… Root could still see it in her eyes, the desire and all the rest. She couldn’t bear to look at it and closed her eyes, could feel Angie’s breath on her chin, the warmness of her skin where she still gripped Angie’s arms.

“I can’t.”

“Because of her?” said Angie. She glanced at the weights beneath the coffee table. “Your ex that’s living with you now.”

Root nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” said Angie. And Root wasn’t. Because she had Sameen. After so long apart, she had her and here Root was, ruining it all over again. And for what? Because she was feeling reckless and destructive? Because she wanted to punish herself all over again and having Shaw hate her was the easiest way to do that. She was tired of this stagnant life they had fallen into and in those few brief weeks with Angie, when everything had been new and exciting, Root was able to forget, for a time, that she was even in Bishop. She got to be someone else. Sam Groves as she should have been.

But living a lie was exhausting and Root couldn’t even do that anymore.

“I should go,” said Angie, after a moment. She tried to move away, but Root tightened her grip.

“You’re still drunk,” Root pointed out quietly and before she could stop herself, words spilled out of her mouth. “You shouldn’t be driving. You can sleep on the couch.”

Angie stared at her, surprised. Perhaps the kindness shook her, but eventually she nodded, let Root guide her to the couch, take her shoes off and pull a blanket over her. She fell asleep almost instantly, looking peaceful and innocent and childlike. This was the Angie that Root had destroyed. The Angie that no longer existed because of her.

“I’m sorry,” Root mumbled, pressing her lips to Angie’s forehead. “For everything.”

*

The dark liquid stared back at Shaw like it was a black hole attempting to suck her in. She sipped at it, blanched at the coldness and took the plunge, swallowing it down in one go. She wasn't sure why, after six cups of the stuff, she was expecting it to taste any better. Vending machine coffee never did.

Shaw tossed the empty paper cup in the trashcan and went over to the nurse’s station for the tenth time that night. Still no updates, still suspicious stares because she was obviously not a family member. They wondered why she was still here and so did she. Duty of care? But that was off her shoulders as soon as she had passed Jeanne over to the hospital’s medical staff.

Jeanne had been right to call her. The baby was breach and internal bleeding meant Jeanne was in surgery and Shaw was out here; pacing, drinking stale, disgusting coffee and wondering how she ended up here. Not the hospital, but in Texas, treating patients and pretending that she cared.

She should go home; drive back to Bishop and sleep if the caffeine would let her. But that meant facing Root and Shaw wasn't sure she was ready for that. She needed some distance, not to share a bed with Root, feeling miles apart despite their proximity.

It was the coward's way out, sticking around the waiting room like a nervous, concerned family member. But it was better, she thought, than more arguments, more unsaid words from Root. For a moment, standing in that kitchen in Bishop, with the sink in pieces and a wrench in her hand, Shaw thought Root was finally about to tell her. Whatever it was that was keeping her away from Shaw, holding her at arm’s length like she was a stranger, like she didn't know Root at all.

Shaw was tired of it. Of not knowing how to fix it, of not understanding why she should.

Back stiff, Shaw sat back down on the cold, plastic waiting room chair and stared blankly at the wall. The familiar septic smell of the hospital wasn't even comforting. It made her think of med school, how her fellow med students would dash about, hectic to learn everything and not screw up. Shaw had always been calm. She knew her shit, better than anyone else and had no qualms about revealing that to everyone. She was pretty sure they all hated her for it, for how she was the intern's favourite student, got to do all the cool procedures first while the rest of them were stuck doing grunt work like chasing up labs, taking urine samples and bathing the homeless walk-ins off the street.

She had been the best and her ego had inflated from it. She thought she always would be and sailed through her internship, reached her residency where, finally, it all went to shit. It didn't matter that she could recite every chapter of her medical textbooks, that she could do every procedure with her eyes closed. She failed in one aspect only and it was the only thing that no amount of practice or book work could ever teach her to do.

And yet here she was again, being a doctor and she couldn’t tell if she was any better at it now than she was back then. But Jeanne, despite only interacting with Shaw for around thirty minutes, seemed to trust her. She was the only person Jeanne called when her water broke, the only person she wanted there when her baby was born.

It was strange to Shaw, not because she was unfamiliar with people relying on her, but because she seemed to like it, got a sense of satisfaction from knowing that she was doing some good, bringing a life into the world rather than taking one away.

Obstetrics had been Shaw’s least favourite rotation in med school and she still disliked the field now. Too many crying babies, too many hysterical parents. Paediatrics had been a no go for her too and she was glad when she was done with those rotations and didn’t have to go near them again.

Working in the clinic at Bishop meant she didn’t have much of a choice. Obstetrics, paediatrics… it was all rolled into one with everything else. It at least it added a bit of variety to the flu shot requests and blood pressure check-ups.

Shaw wasn’t sure how long she sat there, staring at nothing. Her eyes began to droop shut without her noticing and she only snapped alert when a nurse appeared in front of her to relay Jeanne and the baby’s condition.

Both were fine. Jeanne was out of surgery and in recovery. Was she sure there was no family members they could call? The father?

Shaw shook her head tiredly and rubbed at her sleep deprived eyes. It was time to call it a night. Now that Jeanne was out of danger, her condition no longer critical, there wasn’t any more reason for Shaw to stay here. Not that there ever was to begin with. She gave the nurse her number and asked them to call if there was any changes and headed out of the waiting room, through a set of double doors to the elevators.

By the time she got outside, the sun was breaking over of the horizon. It was much later than she thought - or earlier, rather - and she must have dozed off without realising. Root would be worried, she thought, if she had even noticed. But there were no messages on her phone when she checked and she slipped it back into her pocket with an air of disappointment, repeating to herself, _don't read into it. She's just asleep._

Or she just didn't care anymore.

It was the same worry that had been plaguing Shaw for weeks. That Root was just going through the motions, that this - Shaw - wasn't what she really wanted. What she _did_ want, Shaw had no idea. And she wondered bitterly if Root did either.

The drive back to Bishop only served to fuel her irritation. As she got closer and closer to the town, it began to boil over, turning into an anger that was dark and bitter.

Daylight basked over the town when Shaw finally pulled into the driveway. Later, when she allowed herself to think it over, she remembered the orange car parked haphazardly on the street out front and who it belonged to. But in her tiredness she was ignorant, in her anger she was slow and she let herself into the house with only one thought: getting some sleep.

She wasn't expecting anyone else to be awake at this hour, or for there to be any visitors. But here she was, this woman Shaw had only seen once, but was forever seared into Shaw's memory.

Angie Howser.

If Shaw was angry before, the sight of Root's former lover sparked it into a rage even she was wary of.

Angie didn't notice her standing there at first. She was too busy pulling on her shoes from where they sat at the edge of the couch. A blanket lay in a heap beside her, but in Shaw's current mood, she barely saw it, didn't think logically about it. Her mind automatically went for the worst option - the only option in her mind - that Angie had stayed the night. With Root. That their stupid argument in the kitchen had sent Root over the edge, pissed her off and this was her payback.

"Oh," said Angie, when she finally looked up and noticed Shaw.

That was it. That was all Shaw was good for. One word.

She despised this woman in that moment and wanted her out of her house and judging by the way Angie recoiled slightly, Shaw's thoughts must have been visible on her face.

"Sameen."

She would have flinched, but the anger kept her frozen in place when Root appeared from the kitchen holding two mugs of coffee. She took one look at Shaw, then glanced at Angie and from the guilty look on her face, she knew exactly what Shaw was thinking.

"I should go," said Angie quickly and hurried to her feet. She muttered her thanks to Root and the look they shared sent Shaw's imagination going wild. She didn't know what it meant, just that she had never seen Root look at _her_ like that.

And then Angie was gone and the silence left over was deafening. Shaw couldn't stand it and only when she began to move, Root opened her mouth.

"Sameen, nothing happened."

"I'm going to bed," Shaw snapped, barging past Root and climbing the stairs two at a time. Her feet stomped in her anger and she didn't care if she was being obnoxiously loud, if she woke Gen up with the slamming of the bedroom door.

She didn't sleep well and woke up angry and tired, finding it was midday. Root at least had the sense to leave her alone and when she finally showered and dressed, headed downstairs to find the house empty, the car gone from the driveway. She didn't care where Root and Gen had gone she was just glad to be alone.

But this house... she hated it. Every second she stayed in there, she felt her anger growing. When she stood in the living room, she saw the blanket on the couch, still lying in a heap, two still full coffee mugs on the table and that only made her angrier, because of fucking course Root wouldn't clean up after herself or her... whatever the fuck Angie was to her.

She had to get out of there, didn't care where she went just as long as it wasn't this house, or anywhere Root was. Shaw pulled on her boots roughly, grabbed her house keys and wallet and went out into the burning Texas sun. Walking around aimlessly was out of the question in this hell, but she had a place in mind, even if she would rather be dead than caught in that shithole.

Thankfully, when she reached the Razorback, she found it fairly empty. Ordered herself a beer and the best bourbon they had and sat at the bar, alone with her glare to deter any unwanted attention.

The bartender eyed her warily as he poured her drinks and said nothing when Shaw only grunted at him in thanks and asked to open a tab. She planned on being here awhile and, instead of pacing herself like the sensible thing to do would be, she downed her bourbon and drank most of her beer in a few gulps. Her stomach churned from it and she remembered she hadn't eaten anything yet; when she asked the bartender if they served food, she was disappointed to find out that they didn't and settled on munching her way through most of his stock of bagged peanuts. He didn't mind, as long as she kept on buying drinks and, thankfully, disappeared to the other end of the bar, leaving her in peace.

She was on her third beer, when she heard the door to the Razorback swing open, spilling in the heat. She had her back to it and didn't bother turning to look; but when she heard the bartender call out in greeting to his latest customer, she was half tempted, if only to have someone to direct her anger at that wasn't the bottom of a bottle.

"Hey, Cody," said the bartender. "Usual?"

"Sure," said Cody and stepped up to the bar next to Shaw. She could feel him watching her, didn't know if he was trying to place her or if he had recognized her and was pissed to find her in his bar.

"You planning on staring at me all day?" Shaw asked, turning her head slightly to the left to glare at him. He shrugged, took his drink and stalked off to sit in a dim corner up at the back.

After a moment, Shaw glanced over to find him still watching her with a slightly unnerved look. She smiled to herself, swallowed some beer and contemplated how much fun it would be to go over there and mess with him a little. But then she remembered this was the only bar in town and she really didn’t want to get herself barred over a dickhead like Grayson.

So she drank her beer in silence and when dusk began to fall over Bishop, she swallowed the rest of her last one, paid her tab and headed home. Her belly ached from hunger and she was sure there was some leftovers in the fridge she could nuke.

Lights were on in the house when she got back and the car was back in the driveway. Wherever Root and Gen had been, they were back now and Shaw found herself growing more and more annoyed by that as she let herself into the house. She wanted to be alone, wanted the silence to consume her. She didn't want to have to check her mood, be careful with her words.

She opted for saying nothing instead when she walked through the house; and when Root stood from the couch nervously, Shaw stormed past her into the kitchen, hoping her foul mood was obvious and that Root would leave her alone.

She was hungry and shivered slightly in the coldness of the refrigerator as she searched for something to fill her belly. There wasn't much to choose from, making Shaw realise that nobody had bothered to go grocery shopping over the weekend. Usually she did it; because she liked to cook and wanted to get the best ingredients possible, she preferred doing it herself. And of course, Root wouldn't have thought to do it. For some reason that annoyed Shaw too, that Root couldn't seem to be able to do something as simple as buy food to feed herself and Gen. It was like she was a child. But, no... It wasn't that, was it? It was something else. Root just didn't care anymore about taking care of herself. Maybe she cared about Gen a little, but she would starve in her carelessness if Shaw let her.

In the end, she chose some leftover pasta and heated it in the microwave even though it would have tasted a lot better after half an hour in the oven. But she was hungry and impatient and this would have to do.

"Sameen."

Shaw ignored her and stared at the bowl in the microwave as it turned round and round over and over again.

"Nothing happened," Root continued on, regardless of the fact that Shaw clearly didn't want to talk.

"Did I ask you if it did?" said Shaw angrily. In her opinion, Root wouldn't have mentioned it unless something _did_ happen.

"No," said Root. "But I can tell that you're thinking it. She came over drunk and I told her to sleep on the couch. That's all."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" said Shaw. The microwave dinged in that annoying way and she grabbed a dish towel to take her hot bowl out. And because she wanted this conversation to end, wanted to eat in peace, she walked past Root with it into the living room and sat on the couch, blowing into her food to cool before taking a mouthful. It was only after she had finished chewing and swallowed that she remembered Angie had supposedly slept here last and suddenly her appetite wasn't so big, the beer in her stomach turned sour and she wished she hadn't drank so much.

"So you're just going to get mad at me over nothing?" said Root. She had followed Shaw, of course, but stood to the right of the couch, not daring to sit down, to be close to Shaw quite yet.

"No," said Shaw. "Because I don't believe it was nothing." She looked at Root and saw it again. The guilt in her eyes. The way she couldn't quite look at Shaw properly. The way she hunched over into herself like she was trying to hide. "Look me in the eye and tell me nothing happened."

And when Root glanced at her feet, bit at her lip and said nothing, Shaw felt her anger snap inside her. She slammed her bowl onto the coffee table and wished she had picked a fight with Cody Grayson after all. Anything would be better than this.

"She kissed me," Root said after a moment, so quietly that Shaw almost missed it. "But I stopped it. Because of you."

Shaw shook her head, less annoyed by the kiss and more angry that Root had tried to lie about it.

"And you still let her sleep on the couch?" said Shaw, picking up her food again so she would have something to do other than look at Root.

"I didn't want her driving in that state. She could have-"

"Were you in love with her?"

She hadn't meant to ask it and yet the words came tumbling out of Shaw's mouth before she realised what she was saying. But now that they were out in the open, she found herself needing an answer. A sharp intake of breath as Root inhaled and she thought she wasn’t going to get one.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Were you?” said Shaw. Not in the mood to dance with words, she stared hard at Root until she couldn’t hide from it any longer.

“No,” Root said eventually and the single word drew the breath out of Shaw’s lungs in relief. “I cared about her but I wasn’t… there was only ever you.”

“Then why would you fuck her and not me?” Shaw asked, because no matter what Root said, there would always be that doubt eating away inside of her. That she wasn’t good enough, that she couldn’t be what Root needed.

“Is that what this is about?” said Root and now she sounded annoyed. _Good,_ Shaw thought. Annoyance might make her talk, say something she hadn’t meant to. “You want me to fuck you?”

“I want you to be honest with me,” said Shaw, sighing as she put her food down once again. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

In that moment, when she looked at Root, refusing to let her anger blind her, Shaw saw just how lost and alone Root really was. And in that moment she knew she wasn’t going to get an answer.

“I… I can’t,” Root mumbled with an air of despair like she knew she had messed up and there wasn’t anything she could do to fix it.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” Shaw announced.

“Sameen…”

But when Shaw said nothing, shovelled food into her mouth automatically and stared straight ahead so she wouldn’t have to look at her, Root finally left.

Her footsteps as she climbed the stairs felt too loud to Shaw, too ominous and she wondered if this was it. If they had finally reached the point of no return, where neither of them knew how to fix it.

If, finally, it was over for good.


	44. Part 3: Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this months ago but I wasn't happy with it. Still don't know if I am, but you've all been waiting long enough.

Shaw wasn't sure if it was the weight on her lower legs or the sound of the TV that finally woke her up. She tried to ignore it for as long as possible, along with the pounding in her head. There were definitely no plans in her immediate future to get drunk on an empty stomach again. Bad idea. Very bad idea. It seemed she was full to the brim for bad ideas this past year. Getting raging drunk was by far the least problematic and she thought coming here to Bishop and attempting to kill Gen's father were currently vying for the top spot for Worse Decision Ever. She was an idiot, a fool, and she didn't think she had ever been this hungover in her life. Not since her college days anyway. Over the years, she had mastered the art of drinking just enough to get drunk while ensuring she was still able to function the next morning. It was a fine balance between alcohol and water to keep hydrated, with a few aspirin thrown in just for luck. She wasn't sure they even had aspirin in this stupid house.

"Get off," Shaw grumbled and shifted her feet under the weight of Gen's bony ass. In response, Gen crunched loudly on her cereal and turned up the TV; leaving Shaw no other option but to sit up. Her feet were already going numb from lack of circulation and she rubbed at them slowly until the feeling came back. "What are you doing here anyway? Thought you had your meeting at school."

"It's not until later," Gen muttered. She ate her cereal more slowly and stared blankly at the television screen. "You're coming, right?"

"Uh," said Shaw. She hadn't really thought about it. Actually, she had forgotten entirely, what with everything that was going on with Root and then Angie showing up. But Gen was biting her lip nervously, avoiding looking at her and Shaw knew her well enough by now to know she wanted Shaw there. Shaw had no idea why. The last thing she wanted right now was to be stuck in a room with Root and Principal Dawson. Yet her mouth had other ideas, forming words before she could stop herself from uttering them. "Sure. If you want."

Gen shrugged; but the hint of a smile played at her lips, betraying her gratitude. "Whatever."

Shaw rubbed the sleep from her eyes to cover up the roll of them and yawned. God, she was tired. Her back was starting to ache from her night on the couch. Next time, Root was taking it. If there was a next time... She had a sinking feeling that all her forthcoming nights were going to be spent on this couch. Or that dodgy looking motel outside of town. The thought left a hollow ache in her chest that she promptly ignored. Instead, she stared at the TV for a few minutes without really watching it and tried to will herself to go make some coffee, have breakfast. Give her stomach something useful to digest other than bitterness.

"Why are you here anyway?" Gen asked, her voice small. She was nervous about confronting Shaw with her questions, but willed herself to do it anyway. That alone almost made Shaw give her a straight answer. "Did you guys have a fight?"

Shaw shrugged. She really didn't want to talk about this. And especially not with Gen.

"Was it about Angie?"

"Gen," Shaw sighed. Overhead, she heard the sound of creaking floorboards and knew that Root was awake. Something snapped inside Shaw then and she remembered the look Angie had shared with Root before she left, how raw and open and honest it had been. Anger burned through her again like a flame penetrating her skin, pulsing through her veins and leaving her head throbbing. She needed to rehydrate. And caffeinate. Lots of caffeine, preferably.

"You know nothing happened, right?" said Gen, oblivious to Shaw's annoyance. Or perhaps she just didn't care, determined to say what she had to say regardless of Shaw's current mood. "Angie slept on the couch. I saw her when I came down for some snacks." She blushed a little at that, but Root and Shaw had been aware of her midnight feasts for weeks and Shaw didn't mind all that much as long as she stayed away from her beer. Hopefully she would be back at school soon and in a more regular routine.

But summer was coming up in a few weeks and they would all be right back where they started. Shaw wasn't looking forward to it. She missed New York. The bustle and noise and her favourite Chinese place. She wanted to take Bear for a walk in the park and make fun of John's shooting skills, have lunch with Daniel and be subjected to Finch's lectures on not eating near his computers (apparently he had never forgiven her for that one time she ate takeout at his desk and spilled hot sauce all over his keyboard). Hell, she even wanted to see Fusco. Go a few rounds in the boxing ring and badger him about eating right and drinking less crappy coffee and exercising more. No more eating doughnuts at his desk as he plodded through his paperwork.

This town was too quiet, too empty. The exact opposite of New York. Shaw wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it here. How any of them could. She no longer felt wanted here. Nothing she did was right. Everything was all wrong.

"I don't want to talk about this," Shaw muttered and hoped that would be the end of all talk about Angie Howser.

"But…" said Gen. She turned bright red again and the next words out of her mouth came out in a bumbling rush. "Root loves you. Angie was just... Root never looked at her like she looks at you."

Shaw felt herself stiffening: her entire body went rigid like she had forgotten how her muscles worked. Gen's words left her ears ringing. There was a pull in her gut, the urge to run. Root wasn't the first person to ever say those words to her. There had been others. In college and med school and when she was with the marines. It all ended the same way. Shaw couldn't give them what they wanted or needed. So she left them all without a word. Didn’t even try. Instead she ran, far away and as fast as she could, getting as much distance as possible. She had always been distant with people. It was part of her charm and apparently there were enough suckers in the world who found that attractive enough to attempt to date her.

Eventually, when Shaw had involved herself in one mess too many, she gave herself some ground rules. No dating, only fucking. And three nights at the most. Any more than that and people got clingy. A lot of trial and error had occurred in order for her to figure that one out.

But it had been different with Root. Unlike everyone else Shaw had ever been involved with, Root understood her. Respected her needs, her craving for space. Root knew all her boundaries and although it was her mission in life to push them as far as possible, she always took a step back before they could break. She was patient too. Shaw doubted anyone else would have stuck around as long as Root had. _More fool her_ , Shaw thought. It didn't matter how well Root knew her, how patient she was. It always, inevitably, ended the same way.

And here she was. Here _they_ were. A bad end. Like always.

Shaw wasn't surprised.

"You're an idiot," Gen muttered under her breath.

Shaw turned her head to scowl at her but found, when she saw the look on Gen's face - hard and sad all at once - that she couldn't quite muster the sour expression. Instead she stared blankly at Gen for a few moments and realised, like she had known it all along, that Gen was right. She _was_ an idiot. Because who the fuck else apart from Root would put up with her bullshit for so long? No one ever had. If Shaw didn't bail herself, they usually did before Shaw got her chance. They cut Shaw out of their lives without a word. No, that wasn't entirely true... Some of them had said something before they left. Usually a lot of yelling and harsh words that only bounced off of Shaw as she pretended to listen.

So why was it so different with Root? What made her tolerable? What made Shaw want her so bad that she was willing to put up with this shit hole and their shitty, ludicrous attempt at a "normal" life? After all this time, Shaw still hadn't figured out the answers. Maybe there weren't any answers to be found. Root and Shaw… maybe they just were what they were and she should stop fighting it.

_You’re an idiot._

Shaw wanted to laugh. _Damn right, I am._ Her whole life was one big joke and Bishop was the punchline.

"Can I watch my Doctor Who marathon in peace now?" Gen said.

For a moment, Shaw considered hanging around just to get on Gen's nerves. But then she heard the sound of water running through the pipes in the walls, the patter of the shower up the stairs and thought about Root; the look on her face, the slump of her shoulders when Shaw announced she was sleeping on the couch. Only then it hit her how much she hated this. Something felt lose, unsettled in her gut whenever she and Root were fighting and she hated it. She had to fix it. Shaw knew she had to. This had to come from her. She was the one that had assumed the worst and accused Root of cheating. Her own stupid, unjustified paranoia. She just hoped it wasn't too late, that she hadn't destroyed things completely.

"Here," Shaw mumbled, throwing the blanket off her lap and onto Gen's. She pretended she didn't see the smirk on Gen's face as she climbed up the stairs, but she got the impression Gen knew what she was about to do. Of course the kid was smug about it. She probably thought it was all her doing. In a way, Shaw supposed she had been the catalyst, but she wouldn't be thanking Gen yet until she spoke to Root.

Like the town, this house was falling apart. Shaw had spent hours fixing things up around the place. The leaky kitchen faucet wasn't her only nemesis around here. The broken bathroom lock was still on her list, so it was easy for Shaw to force it open. Years of practice at prying open locks had made her a pro and she was deathly silent as she pushed the door open. She was sure Root couldn't hear her over the sound of running water.

Perhaps she should have waited until Root was dressed, had some coffee in her, but Shaw thought if she waited any longer she would lose her nerve. It was now or never.

The small room filled up with steam quickly and in the humid atmosphere, Shaw could feel her hair and clothes sticking to her skin. She peeled them off as quietly as possible and slipped into the shower behind Root.

Root flinched at the sudden appearance of a body behind her, glancing over her shoulder and stilling when she saw the water cascading over Shaw, soaking her hair. It was burning hot, leaving Root's skin pink like she was blushing all over. Shaw stared for a few moments, ignoring the heat on her own skin.

"Hi," she said eventually and wondered how one word could feel so inadequate yet convey everything she was thinking at the same time. She felt like Root could read her as easily as the text scrolling across her computer screens; her eyes tearing Shaw open, leaving nothing but raw, bleeding flesh behind and exposing all her deepest, darkest thoughts. The stuff even she didn’t like to acknowledge existed.

"Hi," Root replied dumbly.

Shaw sighed inwardly and recalled a memory from long ago. _Use your words, Sameen._ But words always seemed to get her into trouble these days. She really wished she had thought this through more before hopping into the shower with a naked Root. It was... _distracting_ , to say the least and Shaw struggled to keep eye contact. It was rather difficult anyway, considering Root refused to look at her, turning back to stare at the shower cubicle wall as if it were an expensive piece of modern art on display, captivating her attention. _Fine_ , Shaw thought. Eye contact with the back of her head would have to do.

"Look," Shaw breathed out. "I was an ass, I'm sorry. I know nothing happened between you two. That she stayed on the couch and-”

Words tumbled out of Shaw like they were trying to escape a natural disaster, forming sentences with no real meaning. Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to find what she really wanted to say.

“I was just... I'm sorry."

For a moment, all Shaw could hear was the rushing stream of water. She felt ridiculous standing naked behind Root. Why couldn’t she have waited until later, until Root was dressed and she was more clear headed.

But this couldn’t wait. It was too important to wait.

"I know," said Root.

"So we're okay?" Shaw asked hesitantly, unable to believe Root could be so forgiving so quickly.

Root nodded.

Shaw breathed a sigh of relief and stepped closer to Root. When she didn't flinch or pull away, Shaw grew in confidence, wrapping her arms around Root's waist in a gesture that was entirely unnatural to her. She was never one for showing affection outright, but in this instance, she felt Root needed it and these past few weeks, in the wake of Gen’s grief, Shaw had found herself growing more comfortable with giving it. This was when actions as well as words were needed and Shaw hoped it proved to Root that she meant her apology.

"And about that other stuff," said Shaw, pressing her face to Root's shoulder. It was easier than looking at her, to say these words against flesh. They were already difficult enough to say without having Root’s razor sharp eyes on her. "What's going on with you… It's okay. You don't have to tell me... Not yet. Not until you're ready."

"Sameen-"

"I don't want to push you. I can wait. I mean," she shrugged, shifting her feet a little so she was fully under the spray of water along with Root. "I waited over a year for you to come back. I can wait a little longer."

She kissed Root's shoulder, tasted the hot water on her tongue, reminding her of her nightly binge and need of some proper rehydration and food sooner rather than later.

"Are you saying you haven't had sex in close to two years?" said Root. There was a smirk in her voice that gave Shaw pause. "Not even with yourself?"

"Root," Shaw sighed, but figured Root turning it into a joke was a good sign. "I just meant there's no rush, okay?"

"Okay." Root turned around in Shaw's arms. Now that they were facing each other Shaw could see the exhaustion in Root's eyes, the emptiness that was slowly dissipating. Shaw doubted that she had slept much last night. Another thing that was her fault.

"We good?"

"Very good," said Root and kissed her long and deep. The confined space of the shower quickly grew hotter and Root pulled away to rest her forehead against Shaw's. It was calm and comfortable and nothing at all like anything Shaw was used to. She found herself starting to like calm and comfortable.

They had been in Bishop way too long.

"We should probably actually shower," Shaw said after a few moments. "We're gonna be late for Gen's meeting."

"You're coming?" said Root with surprise.

Shaw shrugged. "Of course."

Root smiled, the corners of her mouth turning up lazily as she gazed at Shaw. For the first time in days, Shaw thought that everything might just turn out okay.

*

It was one of those Texas days when there was just enough cloud cover to block out most of the heat while still leaving a pleasant warmth that didn't require a jacket. Root ducked out of work early and headed towards the junior high school a few minutes before the bell rang signalling the end of the day. She had promised Gen to take her out for ice cream after her first successful day back at school and was looking forward to it. Finally, things felt like they were back on track and Root hadn't felt this content in weeks.

Root leaned lazily against the fence that surrounded the school grounds, watching as kids poured out from the building. Dozens of unrecognizable faces. For such a small town, Root realised she hardly knew anyone that even lived here. Just those from her own school days, all grown up now, and the few people she worked with who she bothered to remember the names of. Shaw had a far better grasp of Bishop's residents than she did. It was a thought that left her with an odd feeling. Root was so resistant to this place and yet every day it seemed Shaw was becoming more and more used to it.

Gen finally became visible among the crowd, her tangle mess of blonde hair sticking up above the rest. Root hadn't noticed until then how much taller she had become over the last few months. She really was growing up fast. But the extra height had its benefits; Gen spotted her over the crowd, waved before glancing nervously at her side. Root saw the bob of messy red hair and knew Gen was nervous about having been caught hanging around with Meg Grayson again. But Cody was nowhere in sight, either at his newest of endless dead end jobs or at the Razorback. As far as Root was concerned, whatever put a smile back on Gen's face was fine by her and she welcomed both Gen and Meg with a warm smile.

"Good first day?" Root asked when Gen stepped closer. The shrug was expected, but there was no sign of a black eye or bruised knuckles or any other indication that she had been in a fight. That could only be a good thing. Perhaps, "So your day didn't totally suck?" would have been a better question. Although Gen's answer was unlikely to be any different.

"Still up for some ice cream?" Root asked. Gen nodded and quickly glanced over her shoulder. Meg was standing a few paces behind her, head down and gripping tightly onto the straps of her backpack. She looked far smaller than her peers when she stood like that. Root knew it wasn't just an illusion though. She was definitely small for her age and stick thin too. "Does Meg want to come for some ice cream too?"

The grin on Gen's face, before she quickly wiped it away and replaced it with her usual sour expression, lifted Root's spirits.

"Is that okay?" Gen asked. She glanced nervously at Meg who still said nothing and then turned her eyes back to Root. "I mean, won't her dad-"

"It's okay by me," said Root. It wasn't like Cody would be sober enough to notice his daughter was home a little later than usual anyway. "So what do you say, Meg? Fancy a chocolate fudge sundae?"

Meg only hesitated a second before smiling in agreement. Now the two girls were grinning broadly as Root led them out of the school grounds and out onto the street. She slowed her pace until they were in front and watched with a smile of her own as they chatted easily and comfortably with each other. Root hadn't seen Gen this at ease in a long time. The only thing that could make this outing even more perfect was if Shaw were here too. But she had an appointment book full to the brim and, as Shaw told her hastily during her five minute break for lunch, a massive pile of paperwork to get through. Root's smile turned to sadness then, reminding herself that Shaw keeping busy meant she wasn't dwelling on Root, the boredom of this town, Gen's grief or anything else that had been going wrong lately. It was a good thing.

But no matter how many times she said it to herself, she still felt a hollow, uneasy feeling in her gut. Something wasn't quite right, she just couldn't put her finger on what anymore.

So, like always, she ignored it. Ignoring it was easy. For a while she could pretend there wasn't a problem at all. She could put a smile on her face and go eat ice cream with Gen and Meg and fool herself into believing she was finally happy after all this time.

"I'm gonna get another coke." Gen stood from their table in the Dairy Queen. "Anyone want anything else?" Root and Meg both shook their heads and Gen headed up to the counter alone, the cast of her broken arm swinging at her side.

An awkward silence descended over the table now that Gen wasn't there to keep up the conversation. Not that her and Meg really talked about anything of substance. They had started out bitching about people at school, complaining about particular teachers and why gym had to be a requirement. When the conversation turned to comics, Root tuned most of it out, content to sip at her coffee and finish her ice cream in silence. Now that it was just her and Meg she felt the need to fill it. Meg sat opposite her on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, staring out the window almost nervously. Was she expecting her father to appear on the other side, screaming at her to get home now? Cody Grayson could act tough and scary and although Root saw right through it, it was understandable that Meg was afraid of him.

No one should have to be afraid of their own father, Root thought bitterly. Something Meg and Gen had in common at least. Root never knew her own. It was her mother that instilled fear in her until Sam Groves learned how to live with her, play on her moods and make life somewhat easier.

"So how are things?" Root asked. Meg jumped, startled at being asked a question. Root wondered if she was like this at school, if every time a teacher called on her to give an answer or offer an opinion she froze up, helpless in front of the rest of the class. Root wished she had kept her mouth shut after all.

"Okay, I guess," Meg mumbled. She glanced back out of the window, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. And Root should have ended it there but found herself curious, protective and wanting to know if Cody had lived up to the threat and warning Root had issued him with weeks ago.

"Dad doing okay?" said Root. "He's not giving you any more trouble than usual?"

Meg shrugged, her face going slightly pink and her eyes staring firmly at a spot across the street. She looked like she wished she were anywhere else but here.

Root watched her reflection in the window. The ghost of Meg Grayson. That was the real Meg, not the shell of a girl in front of her, pretending to be living flesh while hiding in her fear. Is that what Root had become too? She didn't dare move her eyes and see her own reflection. Even at home she avoided her own gaze in the mirror, already knowing what she would see there. An older, drawn out version of herself that couldn't be real. She wondered if Sameen counted the lines across her face, stared at the darkening beneath her eyes. Root couldn't face it. Meg only had that to look forward to if she stayed in this town, in that home. This place was a disease, a cancer you couldn’t get rid of, Root knew that all too well. She thought she had managed to escape it and yet here she was again. Because you never really can escape something. It's always there, haunting you and Root knew Bishop would always be with her no matter where she was.

"He wasn't always like this," Meg said after a while. Root turned her gaze away from the window and looked to the small line that had formed at the counter. Gen was about three people away from the front. Root suddenly wished she hadn't upped and left her alone with Meg. "It was only after Mom died that he started drinking more."

Root said nothing and swallowed some of her cooling coffee. She was tempted to get up and ask Gen to get her another, but part of her wanted to hear Meg out. Not because she was particularly curious but because she felt Meg needed to say this, needed Root - an adult, someone who knew the pain and hell and claustrophobia of this town - to hear it.

"It wasn't always this bad," Meg said. It came out sounding forced, like she was trying to will herself to believe it.

Root froze. She remembered uttering similar words to Hanna a long time ago. _Mom's not so bad. It's just the drink. She can be kind._

But it was never just the drink. Irene Groves was sick and that sickness infected her, Sam, their house and lives for years until Irene died and took the infection with her.

With Cody, Root didn't believe for a second it was just the drink either. He had always been cruel. He was just good at hiding it. A boyish smile and crystal blue eyes could go a long way. It wasn't until he lost one of them that the effect started to lose its charm, and even before that - after Hanna disappeared and the town turned against each other - he had lost most of it.

"Do you have any other family?" Root asked. Gen had never mentioned that she had but Root always wondered. Everybody in this town knew each other and everybody was related to somebody. Except the Groves'. Root was relieved about that; she didn’t have to face similar features staring back at her, condemning her for all that she had done. Because she knew, like it had already happened and was a fact she couldn’t dispute, that she would see Irene’s face in theirs. Irene’s criticism as sharp as a razor as she stared at her little Sammy and cursed what had become of her.

_Do what you’re good at, Sammy._

Except murder and theft and torture and revenge and everything else Root had committed was a sin in Irene Groves’ eyes.

_Follow your talents, it’s what I do._

Except Irene’s idea of talent was whoring her way through town to pay for her next drink, maybe occasionally put food on the table. A little indiscretion here and there never hurt anybody and God certainly had bigger things to concern Himself with. Root doubted Irene would ever have seen the necessity in what Root did. Not even vengeance for Hanna would have sat right with Irene. Murder was murder and murder was a sin and Root was pretty sure she had her own room reserved in hell right alongside her mother for all the things she had done.

"I have an aunt,” said Meg, her quiet voice startling Root back into the present. “My mom's sister. I haven't seen her since I was seven. She moved to California. Dad doesn't like her."

Cody didn't like anyone. Not even himself. Still, it put an idea in Root's mind. Ideas… she was good at those. Murder wasn’t her only talent. But before she could fully flesh it out, Gen reappeared with her coke and a bowl of ice cream that she claimed was free. The lack of change told Root that it wasn’t but she said nothing as Gen and Meg dived into it with their spoons and once again Root let their conversation wash over her, her mind on other things.


	45. Part 3: Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: As some of you may know, a few weeks ago I posted on twitter that I was leaving fandom and explained the reasons why. This still stands, I have no desire to return to the wider fandom life, but in light of the second of last week’s episodes of _Person of Interest_ (slight spoilers ahead if you haven’t seen it, although I‘m sure most of you have) I felt inspired - no, not the right word, more like _compelled_ \- to return to this story. To finish it and give it the ending that it deserves.
> 
> The majority of this chapter was written several months ago and coming back to it now feels like coming home. This story has grown beyond a simple fic inspired by compelling characters and an intriguing show. I’ve put so much of myself into this now, a part of it is a reflection of me. I’ve learned a lot from it - and I’ve been writing the damn thing for two years, after all - and every slight against it, every negative comment, felt like an attack on me. I’m not going to go into any details, but those closest to me know why I’ve shied away from this story in the last year or so. They know what it means to me and what it would mean to me to finally finish it. It _deserves_ to be finished. And I need to do it for myself, more than anyone else.
> 
> I don’t think I have ever been quite so moved and inspired by a show and the characters from POI. And the people I’ve met because of it. So I’m going to finish this story, for myself, for my friends, for Root and Shaw and also for those of you still reading. I know better than anyone how frustrating this story has become (and if I could go back and edit a lot of it I would, but then it would never get finished). I can’t promise _when_ it will be finished. It’s been so long, I have to familiarise myself with this world again. But I hope with each update, this story will help you all through the pain and grief you are feeling in the wake of POI’s final episodes. I know it will help me. I’m not a religious person, but I am a science fiction nerd who believes in multiple universes. And this is one universe where Root and Shaw are going to get that good ending they deserve.
> 
> So thank you for sticking by this story, for sticking by me. All the kind words left over the past two years have meant so much. Although, the negative ones… well, I’m still trying hard not to take them too personally.
> 
> Anyway, if you are still reading this ridiculously long author’s note, I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride.
> 
> Kes.x

It was too fucking hot. Even at night the heat didn't relent and Shaw found herself cursing their lack of air conditioning on more than one occasion. She slept with the window open, covers on the floor and naked, much to Root's delight. And why the fuck wasn't she sweating and unable to sleep? Shaw thought angrily and stared at the clock. It was 1 am, she was exhausted and had to be up at six for work. But no matter how much she tried, Shaw just couldn't fall asleep.

When the frantic bell ringing and door knocking sounded from downstairs she was relieved she had an excuse to finally give up. She had no idea who the hell would be at their door at this time in the morning and she reached for her gun before she searched for some clothes.

"What is it?" Root muttered, still half asleep.

"I don't know," Shaw whispered. She doubted the Russians would knock, but caution and past experience of these bastards had her on edge. "Go back to sleep. It's probably nothing."

Something about her tone woke Root up fully and she sat up in bed, eyeing the gun in Shaw's hand suspiciously. "Nothing?" she questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Shaw shrugged and pulled on some sweatpants. Now would be a really great time for the Machine to fill them in before Shaw pointed a gun at some unsuspecting Texan looking for directions out of this shithole. Going by the frown on Root's face that quickly deepened into worry, Shaw knew the Machine was silent, as it always was these days.

She was relying way too much on a fucking computer. Shaw pulled a tank top on aggressively and slipped her gun into the waistband at her back.

"I'm coming with you," said Root. A protest formed on Shaw's mouth, but the determined look Root shot her silenced her. She didn't bother waiting as Root retrieved her taser and instead headed out into the hall. Gen's room was silent and dark. The kid could sleep through anything. Shaw was both grateful and concerned about that. If there was a real emergency, Gen needed to be alert, quick on her feet. Not half asleep and disorientated. They would need to work on that, Shaw decided, uncaring that Gen probably wouldn't appreciate getting woken up at random hours in the night by an obnoxious sounding alarm and told to get dressed quickly and out the door. Still... safety first. And things had been quiet with the Russians way too long. Shaw didn't like it.

Something was stirring in the air, the thick and menacing calm before the storm. Shaw had always had good instincts and she had no cause to doubt them now. She didn’t know when or how, but she sensed their time in Bishop was fast approaching its end.

The knocking on the door hadn't ceased. Shaw had a few choice curse words on the tip of her tongue when she wrenched the door open, but they caught in her throat as she blinked in surprise at what was in front of her. She wasn’t expecting the Sheriff's uniform, or the deputy dressed in it. He clutched his hat in his hands, staring at her nervously as she blinked tersely at him. She recognised the wisp of greying hair and handlebar moustache but couldn't remember his name off the top of her head. Her first thought was of Gen. That her room wasn’t still and dark because she was still fast asleep, but that she had somehow snuck out in the middle of the night without them noticing and now this cop was bringing her home, informing them that she had been arrested... or worse.

One glance over her shoulder told Shaw that Root was thinking the same thing and Shaw quickly turned back to the deputy before she could see the worry blossom on Root's face.

"Doctor Gray?"

"Yeah," said Shaw hesitantly.

"Sorry to be bothering you at this late hour," he said in a rush. "But there's been an accident out on the highway and we could sure use your help. It's bad and the paramedics are still thirty minutes out. You're closer."

Shaw frowned. This wasn't what she had been expecting at all. She glanced at Root again and received a shrug. The relief on her face that Gen was safe was palatable.

"Alright," said Shaw. She could hardly say no, could she? Besides, it was the most action she'd had in a long time. "Let me get dressed properly."

He nodded. "Please hurry."

Shaw shut the door on him and turned to find Root staring at her with a curious expression.

"What?" said Shaw.

Root shrugged, then yawned. "You sure you can do this?"

"Do I have a choice?" said Shaw, bristling at Root's lack of faith in her abilities. General practice for minor ailments was one thing, but critical injuries caused by a car accident was quite another. She was better than nothing though, right?

"Whatever," Root muttered, "I'm going back to bed." She disappeared up the stairs with a yawn, leaving Shaw to quickly find some shoes to wear, a hoodie despite the warm night and her medical bag that she had abandoned by the front door when she came home late yesterday.

The deputy was sitting behind the wheel of his standard issue police SUV when Shaw stepped outside, tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. Shaw had only been a few minutes, but in this case a few minutes could mean life or death and she had no idea just how serious "bad" meant to this guy. A few broken limbs and concussions were nothing, but she still felt the immediacy of the situation and hurried around to the passenger seat, her medical bag gripped tightly in her hand. She wasn't sure how useful it was going to be, but it was all that she had.

"Mind if we put the lights and sirens on?" the deputy asked.

Shaw shook her head and he had them on and the car moving before she had barely even shut the passenger door. "Weird to be in the front seat of one of these things for once."

The deputy shot her a wide eyed look that made Shaw grin. "I'm kidding," she lied. It didn't make him smile and she rolled her eyes. Everyone in this stupid town was so serious. "So tell me more about this accident."

"I don't know much. I was at the station when the call came in. Sheriff ordered me to come get you and take you to the scene."

"How many cars involved?" Shaw asked. The deputy - Barnes, she thought his name was and tried to peer at the name tag on his uniform to confirm but it was too dark - steered them onto the highway and picked up speed.

"One," he said.

Shaw frowned. She had driven up and down this highway numerous times. It was a pretty clear road, well maintained. Pretty hard to crash into something when there was nothing to crash into. It was clear the deputy had no more information than the trickle he had given her so she kept the rest of her questions to herself. They drove further away from Bishop and in the dark Texas desert on either side of the road, there was no light to distinguish where they were. Just the headlights in front of them and the stars overhead.

After a couple of minutes, Shaw spotted more lights up ahead. The flashing blue of more Sheriff vehicles, perhaps a fire truck.

The deputy drove them as close to the scene as possible, parking the SUV off to the side of the road. Even from here Shaw still couldn't make out much of the scene in the dark. She hopped out of the car, taking her medical bag with her and walked towards the scene, the deputy not far behind her. He had been right. It _was_ bad.

A single car lay in the middle of the road, completely flipped over onto its back. Broken glass scattered along the ground and Shaw caught sight of part of the broken fender as she got closer to the scene. There was no indication of what caused it from what she could see; nothing on the road that the car would have hit with enough force to cause it to flip over. Shaw frowned. It was all eerily familiar.

"Doctor Gray!"

The shout came from a woman over by the car, dressed in the same uniform and hat as the deputy. Shaw recognised the Sheriff's badge on her shirt and hurried over to her.

"Thank God you're here," the Sheriff said. Shaw doubted God had anything to do with it and suppressed a yawn. "We got two victims. The driver and the kid in the back. The driver lost consciousness about two minutes ago."

Shaw stared at the mangled car. Even with the blaring headlights of the Sheriff's car and all the flashing blues, she struggled to see inside.

"Doctor Gray?"

Shaw blinked. "What?"

"You alright?"

"I'm fine," Shaw said testily and stepped towards the front of the car.

The entire scene was a chaos of noise, distracting flashing lights and people running around. Shaw tuned it all out and knelt down as close to the driver’s side as she could reach. The driver was still unconscious and from the light provided by the other vehicles, Shaw couldn't see any signs of him still breathing. She reached her hand into the wreckage, feeling for a pulse at the driver's neck. Blood poured from a wound on his head and even in the dark Shaw could see his left leg was mangled and crushed from the weight of the car. She felt nothing at her fingertips and glanced over her shoulder to shake her head at the hovering Sheriff.

There was nothing more she could do here. Shaw slowly got to her feet, her eyes still on the driver. He was young, closer to thirty than forty. Shaw wasn't sure why that made a difference, why she was still staring. She didn't know this man, didn't care to, and yet she stood there in the middle of the crash site with the noise of emergency services surrounding her thinking that she should be feeling _something_.

But she was a doctor, a former marine, a former government assassin. Shaw had seen far worse than this over the years. So why was this any different? It wasn't and Shaw couldn't understand why she suddenly found herself frozen in place like this wasn't an emergency, that time didn't matter.

The Sheriff said her name - at least the alias she had adopted here in Texas and which Shaw was still getting familiar with - but she ignored her and went right on staring at the dead man in front of her. A tingling sensation started in the back of her mind, traveling down her spine and leaving her wanting to shiver despite the late night Texas heat.

Once again she felt that sense of familiarity. She didn't have to search far and deep to recognise where it was coming from. The scene was eerily like one from decades ago in Virginia. Single car on the road, no indications of what had caused the accident, dead dad in the front...

"Where's the kid?" Shaw asked, suddenly whipping around to face the startled looking Sheriff.

"Still trapped in the back," said the Sheriff. "The fire department didn't want to attempt freeing him until the EMT's got here."

Shaw was heading for the back of the car before the Sheriff had even finished talking. One of the other deputies had his head through the shattered window trying to keep the kid calm. Shaw kicked at his heels and told him to move, ignoring the outraged look on his face as she hunched down in his place.

The kid was smaller than she was expecting, no older than six and looking terrified at all these strange faces. The blue lights from one of the cop cars flashed blue shadows across his face, giving him a ghostly, haunted look.

"Hey, kiddo," said Shaw. The kid looked at her blankly and Shaw realised some of the tension was still in her voice. She made a controlled effort to try and soften it and forced a small smile on her face. "We're going to get you out of here, but try not to move, okay?"

Still with the blank look.

"It's okay," said Shaw. "I'm a doctor. What's your name? I'm Sam," she added when he said nothing.

"Miguel," he said softly. Shaw struggled to hear him over the noise of shouts and engine's running as the fire department got their equipment together.

"Hey, Miguel," said Shaw. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"I don't know," said the kid unhelpfully.

At a glance, Shaw couldn't see any obvious signs of injury. But the kid's laboured breathing and rapid rise and fall of his chest told her there was a good chance of serious blunt force trauma to the chest. There wasn't much she could do from here without any proper equipment. All she could do was keep him calm and still until the paramedics arrived. Her biggest concern was the possibility of a neck injury and when she asked him if it hurt he said no, just his chest and arm. She glanced at it then, saw the odd twist of his left wrist. It looked broken and had to hurt, but the kid kept a brave face. No tears. Not yet. He was probably in shock.

"Where's my dad?" the kid asked.

Shaw knew the question was coming. Of course it was. Unwittingly, her eyes darted to the front of the car. The firefighters were no longer focused on cutting him out but trying to work out the best way to free the kid. He was trapped and would be safe to move once in a neck brace. It was the dad that had needed the Jaws of Life, as they were so called. But life had already left the man in the driver’s seat of the car. There was nothing anybody could do for him now.

The lie formed easily on Shaw's tongue. She wasn't sure what stilled it, kept her silent. Perhaps the earnest way the kid looked at her, or maybe because she knew he would see right through the lie as easily as Shaw looked at him through the shattered window.

"Let's just focus on getting you out of here for now, kiddo," said Shaw. "Your dad's in good hands."

It wasn't quite a lie, but the truth wasn't exactly plain either. At least not to a six year old.

Shaw made a makeshift splint from the equipment in her medical bag and fixed it to the kid's wrist so he wouldn't damage it further than it already was. All the while she made small talk, hardly aware of what she was saying. Not even caring as long as it kept the kid calm. Her mind was focused on the dead guy in the front seat. He hadn't even stood a chance, even if Shaw or the paramedics had gotten here sooner. Once again she wondered what caused it, the accident. It bothered her that it seemed to be caused by nothing. What kind of nothing resulted in a car flipping over, killing the driver?

She found herself becoming angry, glaring at the cops standing around doing nothing at the side of the road. They should be figuring this out. Miguel had to know, needed to understand why this happened. Why his dad was dead in the front seat and would never be coming home.

"Sam?"

Shaw flinched and turned her gaze back to the kid in the backseat. She blinked at him. Somehow he looked smaller now than he had before. Must have been the cast of the light, Shaw thought.

"You went quiet," said Miguel. He seemed hurt by this and for the first time since she got here over twenty minutes ago, tears welled in his eyes.

Sameen Shaw could handle a lot of things. She had a lot of experience to prove it. Crying kids, however, were definitely not one of those things.

"Right," said Shaw, quickly. "Sorry."

"Tell me a story," said Miguel.

Shaw wanted to grimace. The only stories she had to tell were full of violence and death and evil AI's. None of which would keep this kid calm until the paramedics got here. How had she ended up here again? Why the fuck hadn't she palmed the kid off to the Sheriff the moment she had finished with his arm? There was nothing else she could do right now and keeping kids calm wasn't exactly something she was good at. Usually, she made them more agitated.

But Miguel kept looking at her expectantly, eagerly. One quick glance behind her told Shaw that the Sheriff had wandered over to confer with the fire department. The only person within earshot was the useless deputy that had picked her up. He stood at the side of the road staring at his shoes and picking at his ear. Shaw scowled at him and sighed.

"A story," she said and thought about all the stories she had heard as a kid. There was only one she had ever liked hearing more than once. One that always fascinated Sameen and one she had never forgotten until this day.

It was the story of how her parents met, how they fought to get to America. Shaw embellished a little, made the story more exciting. The man and woman from two different lands fighting the evil trolls to escape to the man's homeland. How they fell in love and ate dinner every night in the tallest building in the world with a view of the entire country before them. How they got married and had a daughter. Here, Shaw had a little fun, and told Miguel all about how the daughter went back to her mother's homeland and killed all the evil trolls and was awesome - she almost used the word badass, but stopped herself - forever.

It was stupid and Shaw felt stupid telling it and it wasn't until she stopped, clamped her mouth shut with something akin to embarrassment, that she saw the awed look on the kid's face, like he had been enjoying it.

"What happened to her?" Miguel asked.

"Um," said Shaw. _What,_ indeed.

She screwed up. Stopped fighting. And here she was. In a shithole of a town, living a life she wasn’t sure she wanted. Not because she didn’t want Root – _that_ she was sure of more than she had ever been sure of anything. It was the rest of it she still had doubts about.

And it all came back to that moment in Russia. The pull of a trigger and the bullet that had killed the wrong man. And everything that had happened afterwards, the danger she had put everyone she cared about in... She had forced this stalemate of a life on herself, on Root and Gen.

It was a horrible ending, Shaw realised. But it was _her_ ending and only Shaw could change it, shape it into something meaningful.

"You need to finish the story," said Miguel. His voice came out like a wheeze and once again Shaw worried about his breathing. She could hear fresh sirens in the distance and hoped it was the paramedics.

"The story is finished, kid."

There was nothing more to tell.

That's what she thought anyway, but Miguel had other ideas.

"A story is never finished," he said. Shaw stared at him blankly. "There's always more to tell. You just gotta imagine it."

"You tell it then," said Shaw testily. She didn't want to think about her stupid story anymore. She glanced over her shoulder, towards the sound of the wailing siren but couldn't see anything yet. Miguel was quiet; Shaw regretted snapping at him. Regretted telling him the story in the first place. She thought she might have upset him when he said nothing more and turned to apologise, finish her shitty story with some made up happy ending. Made up because she doubted she was destined for a real one. People like her didn't get or want happy endings. It wasn't something she even thought about much. And, if she were honest with herself, for most of her life she hadn't expected to live this long. For years she had thought she would go out in the marines or that some terrorist would surprise her when she was working for the ISA and that would be it. Over. For a while she thought it was Samaritan that was going to end her.

Death was the only ending coming for her. She knew that better than anyone. It came for them all in the end, just some sooner than others.

A coldness washed over Shaw then when she turned back to the car. So cold that for a moment she didn't move. Miguel was silent, his head slumped to the side and his eyes shut. That wheezing in his breathing was gone because he was no longer breathing.

"Shit," Shaw muttered and then over her shoulder, "hey!"

She stared just long enough to see the Sheriff bounding over and shifted further into the back of the car so she could reach the kid. Broken glass dug into her clothes, scraped across her skin. Shaw hardly cared. All her focus was on the kid in front of her. This kid that she hadn't finished telling her story to. She refused to let it end like this. It had to have a proper ending. A _good_ ending.

All stories had to have an ending, after all. Even if you did want them to go on forever.

"What's happening?" The Sheriff, behind her.

"He stopped breathing," said Shaw. "We need to get him out of here."

"Paramedics are almost here."

"We need to get him out _now_ ," said Shaw, shaking her head. "I need to do CPR and I can't do it from here. So are you going to help me with him or not?"

The longest second ticked by before the Sheriff finally nodded and moved to help Shaw. The Sheriff took the kid's legs while Shaw called the deputy over to help lift him by the shoulders. Shaw worked at keeping his neck as still as possible just in case. They didn't have to move him far from the car, just enough to get him on flat ground so Shaw could start CPR. The tension from the two officers as they stood on either side of her while she worked was irritating, but easy enough for Shaw to tune out.

Shaw tuned out all the concerned faces, the noise and bustle of the emergency services. All her focus was on the kid in front of her. The kid who had stopped breathing. She remembered those wheezy breaths from before and knew instinctively what had caused them. Punctured lung. The force of the crash throwing him forwards would have tautened the seat belt across his chest, forcing him to remain in his seat and probably saving his life. Miguel had paid for it with at least one broken rib, the sharp edge of the bone piercing the spongy flesh of his lung. Shaw could easily picture it, what was going on inside Miguel's chest. One of her old professors in med school had got her into the habit of visualising injuries, what organs and tissue and bones should be and what various, common injuries could do to them. Then he told her and a class full of eager future doctors to Stop. Forget everything they had ever seen or read in a book. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the patient in front of you, the injury or illness they had, unique to them and them alone.

So Shaw ignored everything she knew about chest injuries caused by car accidents, about punctured lungs and ran through everything she knew about the patient in front of her.

Male, six years old. Conscious and alert since the accident - so about thirty minutes. No obvious external injuries and Miguel hadn't complained about being in any pain, which - if his lung was punctured - meant he either had a very high pain threshold for a kid or he was just incredibly brave and stubborn.

"Paramedics are here," Shaw heard the Sheriff say, but it came from some distant thing beyond here, this highway in the middle of Texas. For Shaw, in this moment, there was nothing but the ground she was kneeling on, broken glass digging into her knees, and the boy in front of her. She knew what she had to do. It had taken her only seconds since getting the kid out of the car on the ground and in the recovery position to assess what she needed to do to save his life.

Shaw was well aware it had been years since she had even attempted to do one, but that didn't stop her as she ordered the approaching paramedics to give her the equipment she needed. She ignored their questioning looks, their outrage at finding this strange woman on the scene, interfering with this patient. Vaguely, Shaw registered the Sheriff nodding and muttering something to one of the paramedics. A second later she had a scalpel in her hand, was barking orders at the deputy to shine his flashlight a little closer. There wasn't time for gloves, no time to even take the boy's shirt off. She would worry about potential lose fibres later and easily slid the blade through his skin.

"Start an IV," said Shaw, not directing her demands at anyone in particular. She didn't have to. The paramedics knew what they were doing and followed her lead. "Tube." Shaw held out her hand and one of the paramedics handed her the clear plastic tube. This was the hard part. Shaw took a long breath, feeling with her fingers more than looking with her eyes to see where it needed to go.

The procedure was easier than she remembered. Or perhaps, despite all the years, the hundreds of these she must have done throughout her residency were so engrained in her memory, her muscles, that it was like finding out you could still ride a bike even after several years of never going near one.

Miguel's chest inflated with air. The paramedics fitted an oxygen mask over his face and Shaw allowed herself a smile when his eyes flickered open.

"Okay, let's get him out of here," said one of the paramedics. The deputy put his flashlight away and helped them lift Miguel onto the gurney.

Shaw was wondering how she would get home when her eyes landed on the mangled, flipped over car. The shadowy mass at the front of the car was a grey blob in the darkness of night, only illuminated every few seconds by the flashing blue lights.

The dead dad.

She stared, for the longest of moments. Nothing else existed. No sound or light or taste or touch. Just the sight of this man, this dead father who would never see his son grow old, finish school, get a job. Make his dad proud.

The _wrongness_ of it threatened to overwhelm her.

It wasn’t fair. This shouldn't have happened. Not now and not twenty years ago either.

Something soft and warm invaded Shaw's narrowed world. She glanced at her hand, found the boy's – Miguel’s - smaller one in hers before the paramedics could push him along in the gurney towards the waiting ambulance.

"You coming?" the EMT closest to her asked. Shaw stared at their joined hands, the blood on her fingers and nodded.

*

Root didn't go back to sleep after Shaw left. Instead she lay on the bed, feeling the heat as she stared up at the ceiling in the dark and watching as shadows formed when the sun rose slowly in the sky. The bed felt too big and empty without Shaw and Root decided she didn't like it. They didn't even touch most of the time, lying at opposite ends and not facing each other. But just having her close, feeling her body heat, smelling her... it was enough for Root. It was comforting. She needed that comfort tonight. Without it she was lost.

There was no particular reason for it. Usually there never was and Root had long given up on trying to decipher her inner turmoil. Sometimes it just existed, threatening to overwhelm her. Shaw had gotten good at bringing Root back out of the darkness. Root suspected she wasn't even aware she was doing it, like it was instinctual and eventually Root had forgotten how to survive on her own because now she didn’t have to. She thought about that night Shaw had spent on the couch, how it had felt so final to Root. It had terrified her to think she had lost Shaw for good and, with her, a part of herself she would never get back. She wasn’t used to it, this relying on someone else. For so long Root had been alone, had preferred it that way and Shaw was the same. Worked alone, lived alone, existed alone. Sameen Shaw didn’t need Root the way Root needed her. It was an imbalance between them that would never be whole and Root had come to accept it a long time ago.

That didn’t stop it from hurting any less.

Unable to bare lying in the empty bed any longer, Root forced herself up. She pulled on some loose fitting clothes and, despite being more used to it than Shaw, felt the heat cling to her. It would only get worse the further they went into summer. Somehow in Root’s mind, she envisioned them all still being here, this never ending prison sentence in a town called Bishop.

She hadn’t heard a word from the Machine in weeks. Hadn’t really wanted to and wondered if she ever would again. The Machine had changed, evolved far beyond anything Root had ever imagined. Now she was more human than machine, more caring and empathic than Root could ever be. Harold would be proud. Or terrified. She suspected the latter more than anything. They always did regard the Machine from opposite poles. Perhaps now they would find some middle ground, something they could agree on. _The Machine has gone too far, it’s interfering in lives it has no right in._

Root could hear Harold’s voice as clearly as if he were in the room with her. She understood where his concerns came from, even before Samaritan had arrived on the scene. Root had never cared. To her, the Machine was a God. In many ways She still was. But everything Root knew about God was nothing like the Machine. Freewill was fundamental and the Machine, although trying to do the right thing, was exerting too much control, not willing to leave things up to chance.

Maybe it was just Root’s life She liked messing with. Bringing her to Bishop, insisting she get a job, live a normal life. As if Root was anything close to normal.

But She brought Shaw here and for that, Root could never be truly angry at the Machine. She could forgive a little, enough to keep the implant in her ear. For the rest of it she kept up a cold shoulder and was glad the Machine had learned enough about humans to respect that and keep Her distance.

It was still early, but the house was warm and light. In the kitchen Root made coffee out of habit, not really wanting to drink any in this heat. Just the smell of it woke her up a bit and a cool shower would do the rest. She wasn’t looking forward to a day in her stuffy office, her computers heating the place up even more and the noisy, restless teenagers getting in her way in the hallways as she went in search of some relief. She was more impatient than them, she thought, for the impending summer vacation.

She had no idea what she would even do with the summer, what Gen would do. There was so much of it. Staring blankly out the kitchen window, Root let her mind wander, imagining whisking Shaw away to a quiet beach somewhere, sipping cocktails on the sand. Shaw would look good in a bikini and Root would be far more than willing to help her apply sun lotion in all those hard to reach places.

It was a sweet dream, but a dream nonetheless.

When the call came, she was almost glad of the reminder of reality. It was Shaw on the other end, sounding far away, emotionless, as she asked Root to come pick her up from some hospital in Corpus Christi. Root jotted down the details on the back of a takeout menu and hung up, only realising afterwards that it would mean taking the morning off work. Again. She wasn’t sure how pleased about that her boss would be and knew she was starting to tread on very thin ice with the principal. Root didn’t care all that much. It was just another one of those Bishop inconveniences that Root would be glad to have over sooner rather than later.

She headed back upstairs for a quick shower and got dressed. Then she made sure Gen was up and getting ready for school. She was still struggling a little with the broken arm but refused any help from Root and Shaw when it came to getting herself showered and dressed in the mornings. The tricky part was not getting the cast wet.

A few months ago, Root would have been reluctant to leave Gen by herself and trust her to make her own way to school. A lot had happened during their stay in Bishop, most of it not good, but Root had learned that giving Gen a little always had positive results. And, despite her hesitation when she poured some coffee into a travel mug and yelled goodbye up the stairs to Gen, Root was feeling a little more trusting, a little less worried since those dark days after Gen’s mother had died.

The road to Corpus Christi was busy with commuters from neighbouring towns making their way to the city and only got worse as she neared the city’s outskirts. Root scanned the highway for signs of the accident Shaw had been called to last night, but couldn’t see any evidence of it. They must have cleared it away in the early hours of the morning while the roads were still quiet.

The last time Root had made this journey into the city and to a hospital, Gen had been hurt. That drive had been a blur as Root’s fear took over. This time she was busy yawning and sipping coffee, wishing she had slept more last night. At least she must be better rested than Shaw, she thought as she pulled into the hospital’s parking lot. She tried Shaw’s cell and got no answer and eventually drained the last of her coffee and made her way in through the visitor’s entrance.

Shaw had said over the phone that she was waiting for her patient to get out of surgery, so Root made her way through the labyrinth of hallways reeking of disinfectant in search of the surgical ward. After several wrong turns, her frustration building, she stopped to ask a nurse in pink scrubs for directions. Root thanked her automatically and turned to head down the hallway she had directed her to - the complete opposite of where she had been going.

As she walked down the corridor that looked identical to every other one in the building, she passed doctors barking orders at nurses, orderlies transporting patients to x-ray and cardio, members of patient’s families looking worried and desperate for information. Root barely glanced at them as she passed, giving them nothing more of her time other than a quick assessment that they were ordinary, Texas residents. There was no one suspicious here just as there was no one suspicious in Bishop (well, no more than the usual drunk or wife beater or petty thief; no one quite on par with the likes of the Russian mafia). But her eyes found the security cameras fixed to the walls the deeper she went into the maze of hospital corridors all the same and she wondered if the Machine was watching. But of course She was, Root had no doubts about that. Even before Root enabled the code that set Her free, created an open system, the Machine was always watching, calculating. _Plotting_ , Root thought and pushed the paranoia away. It sounded far too much like someone she knew and the last thing she wanted was Harold Finch in her head.

At last she found the surgical ward; a good fifteen minutes after she left her car in the parking lot. And there was Sameen, sitting slouched in one of the plastic waiting room chairs, an empty paper cup at her feet that Root surmised used to be filled with the coffee that was still keeping her awake now. But it wasn’t any exhaustion on Shaw’s face that caused Root to still, out of sight and with a frown on her face. The distant coldness in Sameen’s eyes sent a shiver down Root’s spine. But all too quickly it was gone; Shaw sensed her rather than saw her and turned her head slightly with the breath of a smile on her lips. Root returned it dazedly and that feeling of paranoia prickled her skin.

She opened her mouth, ready with a flirtatious quip she hoped would both wake Shaw up a bit and have her eyes rolling dramatically in that way Root loved. Two things stopped her. The first was the coldness that reappeared on Shaw’s face the second she turned away from Root, the second she thought Root couldn’t see. It definitely wasn’t paranoia. It was real, almost physical in its intensity and the only comfort Root could find was that, whatever the cause, Root had nothing to do with it. Sameen was being careful to hide the look from Root. Whether that was intentional or not, Root didn’t know. She _did_ know that now wasn’t the time to ask. That opening her mouth, probing into things when Sameen had had no sleep and only shitty hospital coffee to fuel her through the night, was a bad idea.

The second thing that stilled her mouth was the commotion that broke out at the nurse’s station opposite the waiting room. It was a far enough distance away that normal conversation wouldn’t be heard by the waiting, bored out of their minds next of kin in the plastic seats. But the woman coercing the only nurse not currently tending to a patient, was speaking loud enough that Root was sure the whole ward must be able to hear her. She was speaking in rapid Spanish; a language the nurse clearly couldn’t speak a word of and which Root only knew a little herself. The woman was so hysterical that Root couldn’t make much of what she was saying. One thing was clear: she was visibly upset, desperate for someone to help her and uncaring that no one could understand her unless she calmed down.

That was when Shaw stepped in.

Root blinked in surprise; but there was Sameen, grasping the hysterical woman by the elbow and muttering something to her in Spanish in a calm, deliberate voice. Her doctor voice, Root realised. And even though she had always known it somewhere deep down inside of her, _seeing_ it, watching Sameen be that calm figure of healing and authority, was like watching her favourite band play live for the first time. It was a symphony: no note out of place, the music swelling with the _gracias, muchas gracias_ that woman sang and the audience clapping, cheers and whistles of appreciation, tears of emotion as the music moved them and suddenly arms were around Sameen in a hug; the final encore of the night.

Sameen stood there rigidly, but she didn’t push the woman away. Didn’t return the hug either. Just stood there with her arms at her sides waiting for it to be over. And when it was, when the bewildered nurse, nodding as Sameen said something to her and then took the woman - tears streaming down her face from gratitude, relief - by the arm and led her away, that cold as ice, hard as stone gleam reappeared in Shaw’s eyes.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Shaw said in a voice so normal it was as if the scene Root had just witnessed had never happened at all.

She had hundred questions on the tip of her tongue, but they could wait until later. Maybe once Sameen had slept a little, had some food in her and a heck of a lot of caffeine, maybe then Root would ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 2: (I’ll be short, I promise!) That scene with Shaw telling Miguel a story and the line about stories having to end was written in January, but it has so much more meaning now. _All_ stories, however much we don’t want them to, _must_ end. This story, the show itself and all the stories I’ve read and loved over the years. Some of them have had good endings, some have had great ones (and I’m still moved to this day by how great they were) and, sadly, some have had bad endings. I don’t know what type of ending POI is heading towards. I only know what ending _my_ story will have. I also know I’m not going to be able to please everybody. You might not all see it as a great or good ending. I just hope it’s satisfying enough. That the wait was worth it.


	46. Part 3: Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know it's been almost a year. I suck but I also really needed the break from writing and from fandom (and from life in general, tbh) but I'm back to writing and it's hard and it's slow, but I'm going to finish this story for myself and eventually share if I get up the nerve. So for those of you still interested in reaching the end and for those of you who have left kudos and comments over the past year(!!) thank you so much for sticking around. For having faith in this story and in me.
> 
> When I came back to this story I wanted to finish it before I began posting anything, but the writing has been so hard and it's taking me a lot longer than it did a year ago to write anything coherent and actually decent enough so that my anxiety doesn't overwhelm me and I chicken out of the whole thing. But I'm reaching that date where it's been an exact year since the last update and there has been a lot of comments recently asking if I'm ever going to finish and I've been teasing slightly for months without actually showing anything for it. So I'm posting this chapter (which I'm a little nervous about) and I hope you enjoy it if you are still around. This is setting things up for the "finale", shall we say, of part 3. And it's the next few chapters after this that I've been looking forward to, and dreading, for years to write.
> 
> I've had this story and it's ending in my head for the longest time. Not much has changed since I initially came with the idea for this last part of the series, although RC is way longer than I ever imagined and has evolved slightly since then. It means a lot to me, this story. Which sounds cheesy, I know, but it does. It's why I had to take a break from it, from fandom. I put too much of myself in it. But that's also the reason why I have to come back to it. There's lots of ideas floating in my head for other stories, other fandoms and some original, but I'm never going to be able to start and focus on something else properly until I've finished RC. So that's what I'm gonna do. And if people don't like what I've written, then that's cool. I've always known that since the beginning. I've always been terrified of the end of this story. In a way, that's why RC has ended up so long, because I'm trying so hard to do my story justice, to do it right.
> 
> So, the beginning of the end...

_Two hours, thirty-seven minutes_ , Root thought and glanced at her silent companions.

From the moment they woke up that warm Saturday morning, all through breakfast and now on their lazy stroll through town, neither Shaw nor Gen had said a word. Not for two hours and thirty-seven minutes. There had been a few grunts in response to Root’s feeble attempts at conversation, but nothing that encouraged her to try more and soon she too fell silent. It was hard to tell where the brooding adult began and the moody teenager ended. Root could only sigh and bite her lip, torn between amusement and worry.

She knew what thoughts filled Gen’s head. The same ones that had been there ever since she found out about her mother. Her physical self may have been here with Root and Shaw in the small town of Bishop, in a lonely corner of the state of Texas, but her head and her heart lay in Russia. Her childhood, dreams of what could have been… that occupied Gen’s thoughts more and more lately.

Root understood that all too well. Even now, after months of being back in her hometown, Root still saw the ghosts from her past in every street corner she turned, the what-ifs and could-have-beens haunted her from the shadows, taunted her when she couldn’t let it go.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to suggest going for a walk together. But Root couldn't stand to be in that house and the silence, overbearing and suffocating. She could have suggested anything - a trip to the ballet, to a museum, to the annual county fair they held in the next town over where the lawn tractor races took up much of the day, followed by the main event: the Robstown Rodeo (a Texas tradition Root had participated in far more times than she would ever admit) - and the other two would have agreed. Compliance was easier than arguing, she supposed; although she longed for some defiance. She would prefer harsh words and screams and tantrums to the silence. Yet neither Gen nor Shaw gave her anything and she felt adrift from them somehow, like an ocean lay between them and Root’s limbs were too weak to swim back to them, back to safety and home.

Things had been good. Not perfect, not with Gen still grieving and Root still… _It was the accident_ , Root knew. _The boy in the car. The boy Shaw had saved._ Whatever happened that night was beyond Root’s comprehension and Sameen hadn't been forthcoming with information. Instead, she shut down as easily as if she were a machine that no one had anymore use for. But Root did. She needed Shaw and she could tell that, in her own way, Shaw needed her too. Root just didn't know where to begin, wanting to push but afraid of pushing Shaw too far, of losing the Sameen she knew as she buried everything further and deeper within herself.

_I won't let that happen_ , Root vowed. It had taken her so long, taken _them_ so much time to find each other again that Root wasn't about to let Shaw pull away from her without a fight. But she had to be careful. She needed to remember Shaw’s limits, find the patience within herself to give Shaw the space and time that she needed to work this out out in her own head before she could even begin to explain it to Root.

It would have been easier if it weren't for Gen. She was old enough, smart enough, to have sensed that something had changed. She wasn't so wrapped up in her own pain not to notice, but Root suspected she was using it as a shield. If she focused on her mom and her grief then she wouldn't have to worry about the near future, the uncertainty. Because how could anything possibly be worse?

Yet something worse, something more deadly, always lurked nearby. It was the lives they led, after all. Root just wished she could have protected Gen from it more. But she couldn't protect Gen from Jason, from her father. From the pain of her mother’s abandonment and death. Not even Sameen Shaw could. There was just some things you couldn't be saved from, wounds that could never be healed.

It took Root a long time to understand that. And yet she didn’t have to like it. Didn't have to give up and not even try.

Root let out a heavy breath, a long sigh that got trapped by the wind and carried long and far down the dusty Bishop streets to be lost somewhere in the heat of the desert, forgotten. Part of her wanted to scream, loud and hard to break the silence, shatter it until they forgot it existed. The rest of her wanted to run home, climb back into bed and hide under the covers until it was over.

As if it could ever be over.

“How about a movie?” Root suggested and wished she hadn't spoken. Her voice was entirely too loud in the empty street and didn't sound like hers at all. She glanced at her companions; Sameen beside her but still so far away, Gen trailing behind. They had followed her dutifully like soldiers on a march, but Root couldn't be sure if they even knew where they were, why they were here.

She never got an answer. Nothing but a scowl on Gen’s face. She had heard Root’s voice, just not the words and the sound of it brought her out of her thoughts, reminding her of the here and now, of Bishop, Texas and the danger she was in. Root sensed she didn't appreciate the reminder and could hardly blame her for it.

From Shaw she got more silence. She was too lost in her own head to be aware of anything or anyone else. That scared Root more than anything and the fear gave her a boldness, a reckless urge that she hadn't felt in a long time.

It was easy to pretend her hand was acting of its own accord, but when her fingers entwined with Shaw’s, when she didn't feel the tug of her grumpy little firecracker pulling away, Root allowed herself to smile.

They stayed like that for several minutes. Casually walking down the street hand in hand. Root found she didn’t care who saw. She wanted to see the outrage on all those Bishop faces and knew they would merely bounce off her. Because she had Shaw’s hand in hers, warm and solid and _real_ and it was easy to convince herself that Shaw would never let go, that she would hold on just as tight as Root would.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” said Root innocently. She had to hold back a smirk. Shaw hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t stopped in her tracks either. And for a few more moments, they stayed like that. Strolling lazily down the street, hands clasped together and Root could easily imagine they were somewhere else, somewhere safe on this beautiful end of spring day. Then Shaw let go and the moment was over, lost. Root sighed and shoved her hands in her pockets, bit her bottom lip as she felt the frustration build up inside her. Bishop was too quiet this morning, always so quiet, and she struggled to find something to distract her thoughts, to take her mind off the rapidly increasing sense of loss and despair she felt.

“How long you planning on being like this?” she blurted.

The stiffening of Shaw’s shoulders was the only indication that she had heard, otherwise she remained silent. Each step she took seemed a little harder than the last and Root wished she had kept her mouth shut, had left the house on her own this morning, leaving Shaw and Gen to their shared misery. But she hadn’t wanted to be alone. This was hard and frustrating and confusing but it was far better than being by herself.

“Sameen…”

“Don’t,” Shaw snapped, but when she looked at Root there was a softening to her eyes that took some of the sharpness out of her voice.

“Don’t what?”

“You were going to apologise,” said Shaw. She looked annoyed, like she couldn’t bear it if the words left Root’s mouth, like she felt she didn’t deserve them. _I am sorry, though_. Shaw’s eyes narrowed; she knew Root far too well, could read her way too easily. “Don’t.”

Root held her hands up in defeat, kept her lips firmly pressed together. She would keep her silence for now. Words were rarely needed between them anyway, no matter how fun they could be, how harsh and quick to hurt and bleed. Words were dangerous. _They_ were dangerous, apart or together, they were a force like nothing else, Root and Shaw.

“I’m-” Shaw began. Her voice sounded heavy and Root knew this was difficult for her to say. It always was.

“Don’t,” said Root. And at a raise of Shaw’s eyebrow, she continued, “You were going to apologise. Don’t.”

Shaw smirked and shook her head. Once again, words were not needed.

They turned a corner and found themselves in one of the shabbier Bishop streets. Houses that had seen better days, the paint peeling from rotted wooden panels, dried out grass and weeds overgrowing in front yards and leaving the impression of a wild jungle where the deadliest predators lurked. No one bothered with the upkeep because what was the point? Who really cared anyway? Root’s yard in the house the Machine had acquired for her and Gen would be much the same if it weren’t for Shaw. She mowed the lawn, fixed the plumbing and anything else that decided to break. Because she was bored? Keeping up appearances? _Because she can’t fix me_. Or Gen. Two broken lost girls and Shaw could do nothing to help so she did everything else to show that she cared, even if half the time she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. Root smiled and felt the urge to take Shaw’s hand again. To feel the warmth and reassurance, the gentle pressure in her fingers as Shaw squeezed and refused to let go. But it wasn’t the time, it wasn’t the _moment_ and maybe that was okay, Root thought. Their moment would come. When they were both ready. When the time was right.

“Steak,” said Shaw abruptly.

Root frowned. “What?”

“I want steak for dinner.” Root smiled. Thoughts of food were never far from Shaw’s mind. “Cooked on the barbecue. Some beer… could be nice.”

It did sound nice. It sounded perfect.

“We have a barbecue?” said Root.

“There’s one at the bottom of the yard,” said Shaw. Which explained why Root never knew it existed. She didn’t exactly spend much time out there. Her nose scrunched up in distaste at the thought of it though. How long had it been out there? Who had it belonged to?

“I’ll disinfect it first,” said Shaw, seeing the look on Root’s face.

“Steak dinner,” Root contemplated. She threaded her arm through Shaw’s before she could step away out of reach and ignored the glower on her face. “Sounds _good_.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, her tongue peeking out between her teeth as she smiled. Shaw rolled her eyes at the implied innuendo. _I know a place that does steak better than sex._

They never did make it there. Maybe someday, though.

Things had been simpler back then, sipping fruity cocktails at a bar surrounded by unconscious gun runners. They had stolen a plane that day. Root couldn’t remember having as much fun since. Or even before. With Shaw by her side, with her god in her ear, everything had been so clear.

But Shaw was still here. The Machine… the Machine not so much. Not anymore. _And whose fault was that?_ Root wondered bitterly. It was her own doing. All her own doing.

Movement across the street caught Root’s attention. She let out a frustrated sigh as she let go of Shaw’s arm. “Oh _no_.”

Shaw followed her gaze to the figure across the street, waving an arm wildly towards them, practically hopping up and down to get their attention. “Who the hell is that?”

“No one,” said Root quickly, glancing around desperately for somewhere to run, to hide. But Bishop was small and empty and there was nowhere to go.

“Miss Root!” the boy called from across the street. He dashed across the road, barely glancing to see if was safe. “Miss Root!”

“Great,” Root muttered. She could feel Shaw watching her carefully, knew she would be memorising every detail of this encounter and enjoying herself greatly. Root didn’t dare look at her.

The boy came to a sudden halt on the sidewalk beside Root, gasping for breath and clutching his side. “Hi, Miss Root.”

“Hello, Derek,” Root said dully. She could _feel_ Shaw smirking at her and deliberately ignored her. Derek stared at her stupidly as he always did whenever he saw her in Bishop High’s corridors. He was the only student who bothered to acknowledge her existence, saying hello whenever they met. And always, he lingered, like he wanted to say something else, something more than mere words could convey.

It was extremely annoying. So annoying in fact that Root had been avoiding him whenever she could.

“Hello,” said Derek.

“You said that already,” said Shaw. She sounded bored but Root knew she was anything but.

Derek turned a deep shade of red, glancing at Shaw as if only noticing her for the first time. He swallowed thickly and his eyes shifted, landing somewhere behind Root and she knew Gen had caught up with them.  He barely knew what to say when it was just him and Root. In the face of all three of them, he looked like he wanted to shrivel up until he no longer existed.

“Um…” said Derek and when Shaw glared at him, he turned on his heel and ran.

“That was a little bit mean,” said Root, but she was smirking at Derek’s disappearing back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Shaw, but she didn’t sound it. “I’ll try to be nicer to your boyfriend next time.”

Root’s smirk quickly disappeared. She glanced from Shaw’s amused face to Gen’s haughty eyeroll, watched as Gen shoved headphones in her ears so she didn’t have to listen to them banter.

“He _is_ a little, young for you though, don’t you think?”

“He’s graduating this summer,” said Root airily, deciding it was far easier, and probably a lot more fun, to play along. “We’re planning on running away together.”

Shaw snorted at that. “Should I expect an invite to the wedding?”

“I was going to ask you to be my best man… woman…”

“That’s the groom,” Shaw pointed out.

“I can be groom,” said Root. Then, lowering her voice to a low husk, she added: “Besides, I look hot in a tux.” Shaw stared at Root and swallowed. “You’re picturing it, aren’t you?” Root grinned widely.

“No,” said Shaw hurriedly and resumed walking. Their stroll suddenly became a brisk walk and Root hurried to catch up. They left Gen trailing behind as usual. It was probably best she wasn’t listening to this part of the conversation anyway.

“ _Or_ ,” said Root slowly as she fell in beside Shaw. She leaned closer, her lips almost brushing against Shaw’s ear. “Were you just picturing the bowtie?”

She could tell from the flash of desire in Shaw’s eyes that Root in nothing but a bowtie was _exactly_ what she was thinking.

All of a sudden, Bishop seemed to get a whole lot warmer.

*

“It’s overcooked.”

“It’s fine,” said Root, biting into her steak. The meat was tough and her teeth struggled to tear at it. She chewed heavily, savouring the flavours, the heat. It was the best meal she’d had in ages. Sameen’s steak was still pink in the middle and Root had to look away as she tore into it. She’d never been a fan of rare meat and she felt queasy just watching Shaw devour it.

“Needs something…” Shaw muttered, swallowing down some beer. _Needs to be on the barbecue for another ten minutes,_ thought Root but said nothing. She was content to be silent tonight, had watched Sameen tend to the barbecue with nothing more than a fond smile. When Sameen cooked, everything else in the world fell away. For a little while, both could forget.

The barbecue was a tiny round thing, rusting on the outside, what colour remained fading from exposure to the harsh Texas weather. Inside was a contrast, looking new but used. And clean. Root decided she didn’t want to know what state it had been in before Shaw had gotten her hands on it. They’d even found an old picnic table to go with it. Cheap white plastic with old yellow stains on the surface. Shaw had given it a good clean too, but no matter how hard she scrubbed the stains remained. In the end, Root had found an old white and red checkered table cloth, probably belonging to whoever owned the house before the Machine moved them in. It made the table look more presentable and hid the stains from view. Then they sat at the bottom of the yard where they could catch the last few rays of the lowering sun, surrounded by a high fence that shut out the rest of the town. It was quiet here, peaceful, their own little world. No one could touch them here. Just for tonight, they were safe.

“I know what it needs,” said Shaw, abruptly jumping to her feet and ignoring Root’s amused, quizzical look. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the house. Root watched her go, staring across the empty yard. It was cool tonight and when the candy floss white clouds drifted in front of the sun, Root shivered as the world darkened around her for a few moments. A light breeze caught in her hair, sending loose strands to torment her eyes and she turned away from it, for once wishing for the sun to come back, to still the world and burn her skin.

She took another mouthful of steak and chewed on it thoughtfully. Gen sat across from her, barely touching her own meal, which she had slathered with ketchup, much to Shaw’s disgust.

“How you doing, kiddo?”

Gen stiffened slightly, but at least she wasn’t totally oblivious to everything. She had been quiet all day and Root found she missed the way she used to babble on and on about comics and spying techniques and complaints about school. In a way, they had all changed and Root wasn’t sure if they would ever find the way back to the people they used to be.

“Fine,” Gen mumbled and took a large bite of her steak so she wouldn’t have to say anymore. Root felt like sighing, like saying more. But words couldn’t heal Gen, just like they couldn’t heal _her_ and there was nothing to say. So she listened to the wind, to the birds in the trees, to the faint sound of Bishop beyond the fence. Cars heading home, children playing, husbands and wives arguing. And below, in the darkness, behind closed doors, she thought she could hear a scream.

The clouds moved on and the sun was back to shine its warmth down on them, but Root still shivered.

“Got it.” Shaw returned, slumping heavily in her plastic chair. The legs dug into the dry grass, leaving small dents like footprints in the sand. She pulled the paper plate with her medium rare steak towards her and proceeded to drench it in hot sauce. Root scrunched her nose up in distaste as she watched, wondering where the bottle had come from and if Shaw had bothered to check the date before pouring half of it on her steak. “What?” Shaw mumbled through a mouthful of meat as Root continued to stare at her. Hot sauce, red and thick, dribbled down her chin and Shaw licked away what she could with her tongue. Root was tempted to kiss the rest away for her but knew Shaw wouldn’t appreciate the interruption of her meal.

“That’s disgusting,” said Root instead, with just a hint of playfulness to her tone, and rolled her eyes away to stare at her own food as Shaw grinned at her while she chewed.

They finished their meal in silence, one of those comfortable ones where there was no need to talk, even if there was much to say. Root lay back in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard plastic and failing. She would give anything for a nice deck chair. _Or a hammock to doze on_ , she thought sipping at the beer that she knew she wouldn’t finish as it grew ever more warm and flat. Her and Shaw lounging on a hammock together, bodies entwined until they could no longer tell whose limbs belonged to who. If she closed her eyes and let the warm Texas sun bathe her skin, her body practically burning where Shaw’s touched hers, she could pretend she was somewhere else. A nice sandy beach somewhere, ocean a crystal blue and those orange fruity cocktails she liked not far out of reach. _Sex on the beach_ , she thought and grinned. She had forgotten that. Forgotten Shaw’s scowl as Root had presented the drink to her with self-satisfied delight. It had been Shaw’s idea to stop for a drink after taking down the gang of gun dealers. They were in a bar after all and it was a long flight back to New York in a stolen jet.

“What are you thinking about?” Shaw’s voice was low, barely a whisper on a breeze and Root realised she had been smiling. A genuine one without a hint of sadness or fraud.

“Simpler times,” said Root and put all thoughts of hammocks and beaches and cocktails out of her mind.

As the sun continued to drop lower and dark shadows crept across the yard, Gen excused herself. She was going to go draw, she claimed but Root knew that was just another way of saying she was going to go brood. Alone, without Root constantly watching her out of the corner of her eye, it was probably easier. She probably didn’t have to scrounge up the energy to hide the worst of it. Root watched her go, listening to the gentle pad of her footsteps, the back door opening and closing. She thought she could hear the creak of floorboards as Gen made her way upstairs, her bed squeaking as she threw herself on top of it. The pencil scratching against paper as Gen let out all her anger and pain. She thought she could hear crying on the wind and Root forced herself to look away from the house. She didn’t want to know whose tears she could hear. It was all in her head anyway.

Shaw was watching her carefully, brown eyes softening ever so slightly before they drew back, became blank and distant and so very difficult to read. But that was Sameen Shaw in a nutshell. And Root smiled, knowing she was the only one who could scratch her way below the surface, find what Shaw had buried deep within herself. _But not today_ , Root thought. Not for days. _Where are you, Sameen?_ Shaw returned the smile briefly and looked away and Root suddenly felt alone in this backyard in Texas.

She didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

“Come to bed with me,” said Root. Shaw looked at her carefully, one eyebrow slightly raised. They both knew what she meant by the words and Root knew Shaw was thinking _why now? Why are you really doing this?_ And in that moment, Root knew it wasn’t the right time, wasn’t the right reasons. Wasn’t their _moment_.

Root went to bed alone that night and woke up in the dark to find the other side of the bed empty and cold. “Sameen?” she muttered, still half asleep. There was no reply, no sound at all but for the beating of her heart, the breath in her lungs. She wouldn’t find sleep again this night, she knew and tried to remember what had woken her. A bad dream? The loneliness? The cold?

It didn’t matter. She was awake now, but still so very tired. Always tired.

Before, years ago before everything went wrong and the insomnia that came with too many shifting time zones kept her awake into the long hours of the night, the Machine had been there. The sound of that cobbled together, almost mechanical voice had been a comfort to Root. And they would talk long into the night until the sun came up or until Root finally drifted off. The god and Her acolyte. But what were they now? What was _she_ now?

_Nothing,_ Root thought. _I am nothing but lost._

She turned on the lamp by her bedside, the room flooding with light so bright she had to blink a few times before she could focus properly. The bedroom was as it had been when she fell asleep, no sign that Shaw had even come up to bed. Was she still outside, in the cold, dark Texas night? Or had she opted for another night on the couch, where she could be alone? Root didn’t care for that thought and she cast her eyes around the room for something to distract herself with. Her gaze landed on the book on the nightstand. More than three quarters of the way through now, so close to finishing. Root feared reaching the end as if, somehow, when it was over, she would end too.

_Just a few more pages tonight._ To lull her back to sleep. Root shifted until she was comfortable against the soft pillows and began to read. The old bookmark she had been using fell from between the pages and onto her lap. _Bishop High School_ it said proudly with the school motto and crest underneath. Root couldn’t remember where she had gotten it; from work or maybe it had been Sam’s, the only piece of Bishop she had ever kept.

The words could not lull her back to sleep tonight. They made her sad and thoughtful and stirred the memories buried deep within. _I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone._

Root shivered and closed the book. Reading this late at night was never a good idea, especially not with this particular book. Maybe she would never reach the end, never find out why Hanna had loved it so. Every sentence she read felt like a solemn duty, perhaps even a punishment. This was not the way stories were meant to be read. But she couldn’t find the enjoyment anymore, never even had it to begin with.

A light thud sounded from somewhere else in the house, somewhere downstairs. It was too quiet to have awoken her from slumber and she only heard it now because she was wide awake and alone in the silence of her hometown. The book fell to the floor, immediately forgotten as Root reached for the Taser she always kept closeby. She listened carefully but could hear no more over the blood rushing in her ears as adrenaline pumped through her body. She was on her feet, lightly dashing across the room to the door before she realised what she was doing, before she could talk herself out of it. The house was quiet again but as she listened, she _sensed_ something amiss. _Russians?_ she wondered. _No, the Machine would have told us. Told_ me. Were they being burgled then? It would just be their luck, of course. Not that there was anything worth stealing. Except her laptop… which could lead to a lot of trouble if it fell into the wrong hands.

Root steeled herself and quietly opened the bedroom door. Another gentle thud as Root crept along the hallway. At the top of the stairs she paused. She could see light creeping out from the living room, then heard a smash and the light abruptly went out. A series of grumbled curses sounded then, some foreign and some not. Definitely not Russian. _Farsi_. Root would know that voice anywhere.

Sighing, Root slipped the Taser into the waistband of her pyjama pants and hurried the rest of the way downstairs. She found Sameen hiding in the shadows, the tip of her nose lit up, but not much else, by the light from her phone as she tried to maneuver her way through the dark without crashing into anything else. Root turned on the overhead light, watching with amusement as Shaw blinked in surprise at the sudden brightness, at the fact she had just been caught with a broken lamp at her feet. All amusement quickly faded when Root’s eyes took in the sight of Sameen Shaw.

That she was drunk was evident, even if Shaw hadn’t smelled like an overworked brewery, the fact that she was swaying where she stood kind of gave it away. The drinking didn’t concern Root, the sneaking off in the middle of the night to go do it without telling anyone she was gone didn’t bother her either. It was the burst and swollen lip, the dark bruise developing around her left eye and the cracked and bloodied knuckles of her right fist that had Root worried.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Shaw blurted. Her voice was remarkably steady, considering how much alcohol she must have consumed tonight.

“It looks like you got into a fight,” said Root, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She bit her lip to keep the amusement from her face. Although she needn’t have bothered: Shaw was too drunk to notice it.

“Okay,” said Shaw, looking sheepish and wiping at the dried blood on her chin with the back of her hand, “it’s what it looks like.”

Root took a step closer, wiping away the blood Shaw had missed with her thumb. Her skin was burning around her lips, red and puffy and more blood dribbled from her split bottom lip as Shaw jerked away with a hiss. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

Root raised an eyebrow. “That’s the alcohol talking... Do I even wanna know?”

Her mouth opened and, for a moment, Shaw looked like she was about to confess all. “Probably not,” she said eventually and there was that shadow again as Sameen put up the walls that surrounded her so completely. Root had put down those foundations, had helped place each brick so carefully that nothing she could say would tear it down right now. Instead she led Shaw to the couch, told her to sit and not move while she went off in search of the first aid kit she knew had to be around here somewhere. When she returned, Shaw’s eyes were closed, but Root knew she was awake, waiting for Root and burdened by her demons.

She started with Sameen’s hand first, gently washing the blood away and cleaning the cuts and scrapes before wrapping the hand tightly in a bandage. Shaw said nothing as she worked, didn’t even complain that Root was doing it wrong, didn’t try to interfere.

“Usually we’re the other way around,” Root muttered. It was supposed to be lighthearted, a joke to lighten the tension in the room. But Shaw didn’t even smile, just stared at Root as she worked, saying nothing. Not until Root reached for her mouth with a fresh alcohol wipe to clean her split lip did Sameen finally react. She grabbed Root’s wrist, stilling her before she could reach the wound. Her grip was tight, demanding and Root quickly found her eyes, not liking what she saw there.

“Ask me,” said Shaw, her voice a low whisper. It was strained and lost and it stole the question from Root’s lips. “Why won’t you ask me what’s going on?”

Root glanced away, stared at the hand that held hers in place. The fresh bandage was stark white against Sameen’s skin, like a blanket of winter snow on the ground. Then Shaw let go, let her hand fall to the side and allowed Root to finish cleaning her up. There wasn’t much she could do for her burst lip, but at least the bleeding had stopped. It would need ice for the swelling. So would her eye, but Shaw needed answers more and Root stayed where she was, biting her lip for a moment before finally meeting Shaw’s gaze with a sigh.

“Because I’m not ready to give answers.”

For a moment, for eternity, all they did was stare at one another. Then Shaw nodded. They both had their secrets and they both had their reasons for keeping them. All they could do was trust each other until they were both ready to talk. _Whenever that will be. Never ever_ , Root thought. But never was a long time, never was forever and Root knew she could not keep on hiding.

“Just promise me…” said Root nervously. “Promise me you’re not going to bail.” She could handle the truth, handle anything, she thought, as long as she wasn’t alone. As long as she had Sameen.

Shaw kissed her then, light and soft but Root could still taste the blood, the alcohol and everything that was Sameen. “I’m not going anywhere,” Shaw muttered against her lips.

Words that were meant as a promise, meant to be comforting. Instead they tore a hole in Root’s chest, left her empty and aching. She remembered Daizo then, his boyish grin and youthful, caring eyes. He had died so young, so senselessly. _My fault,_ Root thought and wanted to sob, but her eyes were dry tonight. _Everything is all my fault._

In their world, nothing lasted forever and promises meant nothing.

“Hey,” Shaw muttered. Exhaustion softened her voice, her gaze, and Root smiled sadly when a hand cupped her cheek. “You okay?”

She wasn’t, but Root nodded anyway and tried not to think about Daizo anymore. Tried not to think about any of them. She couldn’t run from her past, her demons, but neither could Shaw hide from hers. All Root could do was try to protect Sameen from them as long as she could.

“I’m fine,” said Root and when Shaw leaned over and kissed her again she almost believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone." -- Daniel Keyes, _Flowers for Algernon_.


	47. Part 3: Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter written for ages and I finally forced myself to edit it and post it. It's probably still full of typos though so apologies for that.  
> This chapter was hard to write because in every outline for RC I wrote (and there have been several because I am the procrastination queen) this chapter was always incredibly vague with nothing much more than I NEED X TO HAPPEN SO Y MAKES SENSE. So it was hard but it was also really fun to write and I like how it turned out in the end. There's parts of it that I'm really proud of and I hope you all enjoy it.  
> There's not much left to go in part three and I'm super excited to say I've gotten into a really good writing routine the past few weeks and I'm now onto writing part four. So I'm nearing the end and I'm terrified and excited. However, it's probably going to take me ages to post chapters because that writing routine involves writing by hand (apparently attempting to write on the same PC I play video games was not a good combination) so it's gonna take me a long time to type all that up and edit it. (Honestly, I counted the pages the other night and wanted to cry there's so many).
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this for now - Kes.

There was something cathartic, something soothing, about cleaning one's own guns. Sameen Shaw had always enjoyed the process. She took her time with it, conscious of how leaving it unkempt could result in a blocked chamber, a misfired bullet, the end of a life.

She’d been at it for hours now and her fingers were beginning to cramp with the effort and the pungent smell of the cleaning solvent made her head ache. Even with all the windows open the smell lingered. There was no breeze today to diffuse the stench away and she knew it would still be there by the time the other two got home. She doubted Gen would know what she had been doing and would probably disappear into her room to get away from the smell. But Root would know. Would know that she had skipped work again to go to the firing range, squeezing the trigger until every bullet was spent from every gun. Then she came home and cleaned them methodically and tried not to think. And when the thoughts became too much, when the crack of gunfire and the concentration needed to clean her weapon afterwards couldn’t shut them out, then she went to the bar.

_But not since the fight._

Her lip still stung when she ate or drank anything and the bandage wrapped around her hand had turned from snow white to a dirty grey. She really should change it, but bandaging her own hand was too awkward for her to bother. A few words and Root would have helped her in an instant, but she hadn’t dared. Shaw barely remembered her drunken conversation with Root after she stumbled home, wasted and sore and wanting nothing more than to pass out on the couch. Then Root was there, taking care of her, being worried about her when she shouldn’t have to be. She cleaned up the evidence of Shaw’s fight without a word, no questions, no demands to know what had happened. Just her touch, her presence, silent and reassuring and all Shaw wanted to do was run away from it. She was pulling away, from both of them, she knew. They had been through too much and so much of over the years that Root wasn’t about to let her go so easily. She held on tight, anchored Shaw to this town, this world, to the present and not the past.

_Don’t think about the past or the crash or him…_

Shaw shoved the bore brush deep into the barrel of her gun and inhaled deeply. Too deeply and coughed when she took in a lungful of solvent that burned its way down her throat. She should have done this outside, but the couch was soft and comfortable and there was no blinding sun in her eyes. Shaw hadn’t moved in so long a permanent dent was starting to form in the cushions where she sat, molding to the shape of her body so that if anyone else tried to take her place they would find it uncomfortable, so unsuitable that they would feel just as out of place as she did.

Except there was no one to take her place. Where once this house, this town, had felt too crowded, overbearing, now it was empty. Silent, still.

_I shouldn’t have come here_ , Shaw thought, but she had and she’d stayed. She _promised_ not to run and told herself it was worth it. Root and Gen were worth it and yet she was losing them anyway. The longer they stayed here, the more they tried to hide from their pasts, from uncertain futures, the more lost they became. The darkness engulfed them all and soon Shaw would lose sight of them, stumbling blind as she tried desperately to grasp onto someone, anyone, anything.

_Had he felt the same?_ During that moment, when the car flipped on its back and the darkness came had her father struggled desperately to reach out to her, to hold on? Did he try to fight or did he accept his fate, in that single moment before death? Shaw had always thought of him as strong, as a fighter, like her. Except he had died and Sameen had been left alone and cold and hungry and indifferent to the world around her. He couldn’t have been strong enough, he didn’t fight hard enough and the memory of flashing blue lights, sympathetic firemen and paramedics promising she would be okay left a sour, bitter taste in the back of her throat.

It was all bullshit. Life, death, pain, love… did any of it even matter in the end?

_No,_ she thought. _Not in the end. But right now..._

Sameen Shaw stiffened as the shrill sound of the doorbell clanged its way into her thoughts. For over an hour she had been cleaning the same gun and her fingers were sore and sticky, sweat clung to her skin from the Texas heat and her head thumped wildly, louder, more painful, than a bullet. _Ignore it_ , she told herself and carefully put her gun back together, but she could not find peace in the process this time. The bell continued to ring, followed by a persistent knock that seemed to hammer a nail into her head with each thump of fist on wood. Out of annoyance more than curiosity, Shaw climbed to her feet with a sigh, shoving her gun into her waistband at her lower back and wiping her hands clean as best she could on her pants, uncaring if they left a stain. If this was some asshole trying to sell her something they would feel her wrath with a deadliness that would send them running.

Not even her best, her scariest scowl could deter the person at the door. Shaw blinked at the sheriff standing before her and immediately she was back on the highway, back to that turned over mess of a car with the driver dying dead gone in the front seat and his child lost and alone and afraid in the back.

_Except I wasn’t afraid_. _I wasn’t lost_. Sameen had felt nothing that night and for many years to come. But it was there… the grief, the loss. It sat in her heart, waiting and when it finally came, when it floored her like an unexpected punch to the gut, Sameen Shaw didn’t know what to do.

“Sheriff,” she said slowly, careful to keep the irritation out of her voice. Since the accident on the highway, and even before then, Bishop’s sheriff had always greeted her pleasantly. Today, however, she had steel in her eyes and a hand on her hip that was too near her gun to be a coincidence. Shaw felt her body tense, preparing for a fight. Her senses went into red alert and suddenly everything became a lot sharper, louder. She could smell the musk drifting off the sheriff, not quite masked entirely by the perfume she wore, could hear the sound of light traffic as cars made their way through Bishop’s streets, then the shouts and laughs of children playing. _Schools out_ , Shaw thought and that sense, that instinct deep inside her gut, burned brighter and louder than all her other senses put together.

“May we come in?” The sheriff sounded polite enough, though she didn’t wait for an answer, one foot through the door before the words had even left her lips. Shaw’s eyes darted to the gun on her hip then up and past the sheriff to land steadily on the woman behind her. _Not a cop_ , Shaw knew instinctively. But the way the woman carried herself, straight and stiff and trying to look important in her cheap and faded power suit, Shaw thought she might be someone of authority anyway. A lawyer, perhaps? Or something else…

Shaw frowned and stepped aside, clenched the fist that was still wrapped in a bandage. It didn’t hurt anymore; the pain had been mild to begin with. Except for that first punch, when her knuckles connected with flesh with a loud _crunch_. Skin broke and teeth cracked and Sameen enjoyed the sting as her own blood flowed.

Was that why the sheriff was here? The stupid bar fight? Shaw didn’t think so. He was too scared of her to run to the cops, had spent too many times on the wrong side of the law himself to risk it. The bartender then, had he talked? He hadn’t been pleased about the mess she had left in her wake. Blood and booze and glass making a deadly lake on the floor, chairs and tables broken and splintered like a ship lost to a storm. Sameen Shaw had been the storm that night, wild and fierce and unstoppable. And, despite the heat of summer in Texas, Shaw felt another storm oncoming, one far deadlier than she had ever known.

“I’m assuming you have a permit for those,” said the sheriff gravely.

Shaw glanced to where she was looking, at her collection of weapons left out on the coffee table. Enough to arm a small army of mercenaries. Excessive for a small town doctor to keep. Shaw said nothing and waited for the sheriff and her companion to get to the point. She had an inkling where this was headed - it had been far too quiet for far too long - and her phone vibrating in her pocket told her as much. She didn’t answer it. Instead Shaw kept her eyes on the sheriff. If this was going to end in a fight, Shaw didn’t want to give the cop any advantage.

“This is Maria Wilcox from child services.” The sheriff gestured to her companion and Shaw glanced at her briefly before deciding the sheriff was the bigger threat. The sheriff was armed, the social worker was not. If Shaw had to get out of here quickly, it was the sheriff she was going to have to get past.

Words poured out of the sheriff’s mouth, but they were meaningless to Shaw. _Child services._ Those were the only two words she needed to hear. She knew what it meant and the incessant vibration in her pocket made her angry. The Machine… always too fucking late. The vibration trailed off into the familiar dashes and dots of morse code. Three letters that meant everything.

“Where is she?” Shaw’s voice was raw, hard as ice, hard enough to make the sheriff blink and tense up.

“Until we can get this matter resolved,” said the woman from child services, sounding far more confident than she looked, “Gennifer will be taken into care.”

_Her name is Gen. Genrika and you have no idea the danger you’ve just put her in._ Shaw wanted to shout, to punch and fight, but that would be futile. She had to get to Gen and fast. _School’s out_ , Shaw remembered. Would they have come here first or gone straight to Gen?

“The transition will be easier for her if we had some of her things.”

“And we need to talk,” the sheriff added sternly. Her eyes were on the table strewn with weapons again. If she’d had doubts about whatever bullshit accusations child services had been fed, she was starting to lose them now.

But Shaw had no intention of talking. With the gun pressed cold and hard against the small of her back, Shaw swept past the two women and out the still open front door. She was all the fury and rage in the heart of a storm and no one could stop her.

*

At first, panic froze Root.

She listened to the Machine’s voice, once so comforting and soothing and familiar. Now She only spoke to serve admonishments, to warn of danger. To give orders. _Run, hide, go home._ But Bishop had never been her home, not even when she was still Sam, still young, still had Hanna by her side. Root had only ever had one home and she’d lost it. She ran away and destroyed it in an instant.

As the Machine continued to report through the implant in Root’s right ear, the panic quickly melted, bubbling into a hot anger. Rage burned within her, sending fire through her veins and she was moving out of instinct. Abandoning her work, ignoring her colleagues and the startled students she rushed past, Root left the old, crumbling building of Bishop High School, its walls covered in graffiti that had been there since long before Sam Groves had ever stepped foot in the place for the first time. She was never meant to be here again. She shouldn’t have come back to the ghosts that followed her everywhere. But the Machine had told her to and Root had obeyed because all she wanted was to keep Gen safe. And now…

As she stepped outside into the blinding sun, hot and angry just like her, Root knew she wouldn’t be back to this place. The place that had seen her through some of her last years in Bishop. The place where she had left Sam behind and became Root.

If only it were so easy to shed the memories, lose the ghosts. But she was more than a name. More than Sam and Root. She was both and she was neither and she had been hiding for far too long.

The short path towards Lhars Junior High was worn and familiar, though Root could remember none of it. The world became a blur. It took her seconds, hours, days, forever to cross the dried grass of the football field, so worn away in places from past games and students from both schools messing around during their lunch breaks that brown patches scattered the field. The ground was hard and dry, baking in the Texas heat, but Root’s steps never faltered.

She reached the school, pushed her way through the doors like she belonged. No one tried to stop her. No one would dare and she ignored the startled glances from the students she passed in the hallways. None of them were familiar. None of them were _Gen_.

_I’m too late_ , she realised. The Machine’s warning had come too late. Her feet faltered then. Gen wasn’t here, but the trail had not yet gone cold. She could still get her back. With the Machine’s help, Root could find her. But the fury burned within her so hot that she hesitated. She wanted to scream, to lash out, make someone bleed and hurt for this. And she knew just _who_.

Who else? Who else held a grudge and would let Gen be taken from school so easily? _Someone filed a complaint. Neglect, abuse… they took her._ The Machine’s words echoed in her head. How long before social services figured out Gen wasn’t who she appeared, that Sameen Gray didn’t exist? That Sam Groves was Root: hacker, hired assassin, killer, _murderer_ …

How long before Gen’s father found her now?

Root refused to let that happen, but the fire in her body, the rage, stopped her from thinking clearly. Instead of turning back through the hallways, haunted with memories of her past, of Hanna and Sam and the peace and safety they’d found in each other only for it to be torn away, instead of leaving this place and everything behind and going after Gen, Root kept moving forwards, further and deeper into hell.

Students parted before her in waves. Some gave her curious stares. Others just looked terrified. The killer in her was out to play and no one dared come near her.

She didn’t think, didn’t feel in control of herself anymore. That was either good or bad but she didn’t care which. _Gen is gone and I was supposed to be protecting her._ But she’d failed. She always failed. Just like she failed to stop Jason, to save Daizo, to find the courage to run away with Hanna when she was small and young and still had the chance, still had time.

Root had visited this office way too many times since her return to Bishop. Only, this time, she hadn’t been summoned. At Root’s abrupt arrival, the principal’s startled secretary jumped so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. Root ignored her protests and barreled past, letting herself into the principal’s office proper, uncaring if she was interrupting something. The door swung so hard on its hinges it banged against the wall; but to her credit, Principal Melanie Dawson did not flinch.

Like she had been expecting Root all along, Dawson looked up calmly from her paperwork, reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She took a moment to remove them, her movements delicate. Root felt her anger stirring; so hot it was now, she was sure her blood would begin to boil.

“Miss Gr-”

“Why?” Root demanded. She didn’t shout. In fact her voice was deathly quiet. The voice of a killer in the night.

“Why what?”

To feign ignorance only snapped something inside of Root; the only thing that had been keeping her together thus far. She took a step forward without thinking about it, without knowing it, and grasped Melanie Dawson by the front of her blouse. She had no time to gasp in surprise or object before Root had her slammed against the bookcase lining the wall behind her desk. The force of it shook the wooden shelves, thick and heavy education textbooks falling to the floor with loud thuds like meteors falling from the sky.

“They took her,” Root hissed. Her voice no longer sounded like her own. Harsh and angry, cold and steady. “Why did you lie?”

With the question came another hard shove against the bookcase, so abrupt that it shook Dawson enough to let out a tiny gasp, almost a whimper.

“I didn’t-”

The denial resulted in another shove, Root pressing so hard that she hoped the hard wood of the shelf was digging into Dawson’s back, biting her skin and making her bleed. “You told them all those lies and they took her and she’s…” Root couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t even think it. _She’s in danger and I’m wasting time,_ she thought. But the thought was far away and her rage silenced it.

She wanted something sharp, a knife, a needle, anything to make Dawson bleed. Root kept one hand still firmly entwined in Dawson’s silk blouse, holding her in place against the bookcase while her eyes scanned the office behind her. The desk was neat, not a pencil out of place. A stapler and hole punch sat at one corner, perfectly aligned with the sides of the desk. The stapler could be useful, depending on where she used it… But Root wanted something more. Something threatening, deadly.

Her eyes found the scissors, the red plastic handle poking out of the top a stationary holder with the words _world’s best mom_ written in glittery letters on the side. Root hesitated for only a moment, then she had them in her hand and the blade at Dawson’s throat before either of them could blink.

All the bravado, the superiority built up from an adolescence that ended long ago, quickly fell away when the cold metal pressed hard against Dawson’s skin. Root could see the surprise in her eyes, the fear. It had been easy falling back into old habits and tormenting Root when Dawson still thought of her as Sam Groves. Except she hadn’t been Sam Groves in years and the realisation was slowly starting to flicker across Dawson’s face, panic and fear making her shake.

“You will call them and tell them you lied,” said Root. She pressed the scissor blade harder against Dawson’s throat. The threat was clear: comply or bleed.

“ _I can't_."

That wasn't what Root wanted to hear. She was good at making people do what she wanted, however, was good at torture and pain.

Her hand began to shake; from rage, from fear, from years worth of exhaustion finally building up so much it was time to collapse… she didn’t know which. The scissors shook in her hand, the sharp point of the blade piercing the pale, sensitive flesh of Melanie Dawson’s throat. Root watched as a single drop of blood pooled at the nick on her skin, gave into gravity and trickled down Dawson’s neck, bright and red and warm.

Nausea welled up in her gut. For a moment she could smell only blood, could taste the iron on her tongue, sharp and bitter and she wanted to scream, wanted to be the one bleeding, wanted to take the scissor blade and slice in across her wrist and finally take control.

From far away she heard her name. _Root._ But that wasn't right. She was in Bishop and she was Sam and Hanna was waiting for her. Except Hanna was dead. So was Daizo and Jason and the baby Zoe had never wanted. Gen was lost and Sam was gone and Root was…

And suddenly Shaw was beside her, prying the scissors gently from Root’s hand.

“Root,” Shaw said again, now that the scissors were safely out of Root’s reach. “It wasn’t her.”

For a moment, Root didn’t understand, so thick was her rage, so _hot_ like a lava tsunami rushing towards this tiny little town in the desert, ready to drown and burn them all. Shaw’s low, gravelly voice was familiar, calming, and it stilled the rage within Root, just long enough for her to comprehend, to let go and stare at the creases she had made in Dawson’s once perfect and immaculate silk blouse. Apart from a notable tremble, Melanie Dawson did not move, did not slump to the floor, as if she feared Root would lash out once more if she did.

With her rage gone, all the energy left Root and she wanted so much to close her eyes, shut out the world until it no longer existed, until she was gone and couldn’t feel anything anymore, couldn’t feel love or hate or pain or fear. She wanted it gone, all of it. Yet, she knew, if she shut her eyes, she would see it all. See Gen, alone and scared. See Hanna walking away from the library for the last time. Angie on the stock room floor, her whole life ruined once again. Daizo bleeding out in her arms. Sameen lying in their bed, naked and unable to move, unable to stop Root from walking away. And Jason… Jason pressed up against her, feral and needy. Jason in the van with a boyish smirk on his lips, leaning across her shoulder as they worked together at finessing delicate code. Jason watching her back, saving her life. Jason Jason Jason… Nameless faces in the dark, countless. Some she remembered, some she imagined so hard until they all looked the same, looked like Angie and Daizo. And she watched as they slowly bled out, smoking gun in her hand from the bullet she put in them herself. _I killed them. I killed them all._ Hacker, killer, murderer. Yet who was she if not that?

Who was she if not Root?

Not Sam, never Sam. Not again. Couldn't be that lost, scared little girl with the hope burning in her heart. The hope that had been torn out of her in one night, lost and gone forever. She couldn’t lose Hanna, not again. _Never again no no no._

Muffled giggles in _their_ special corner of the library, swapping lunches so Sam could have some semblance of a good meal, talking all night in hushed whispers, safe in the dark, beneath the moon and stars. A single kiss, dry and nervous and small (so very small and quick and over too soon), her cheeks burning so hard the whole town must surely know. And Hanna just smiling, shy and young and innocent and _alive alive alive._

The world spun; the past, the present all a blur before Root’s eyes. So fast it made her dizzy, made her sick. She gasped, hip colliding harshly with the corner of the desk as she stumbled away, as she recoiled from the outstretched hand, from the concern in Shaw’s eyes.

_Hanna is dead_ , she reminded herself. _Dead dead dead._

“Root…” Shaw’s voice was too quiet, too loud, too harsh, too caring.

_Stop it_ , Root screamed and this time couldn’t fight the wave of nausea, didn’t want to fight it. She was so tired of fighting.

She retched up nothing but bile, bent over Melanie Dawson’s wastebin and shaking so hard she was sure to drill a hole in floor. Her knees hurt from where they pressed her whole weight into the rough and worn carpet, her throat burned from the acidic bile and her heart… her heart wanted out of her chest. It fought like a boxer in the last round of a championship match, punching and kicking its way through flesh and bone, wanting so desperately out of her chest.

If Shaw had touched her then, she knew she would break. But Shaw didn’t touch her, didn’t speak, did not move closer. She watched and frowned and scowled and yet she did not leave either. She stayed. She always stayed, no matter how hard, how much Root tried to push her away, Sameen Shaw always stayed.

So why did Root always try to run away? Why couldn’t she be as strong as Sameen, as brave? Why did she have to cause so much pain?

_My fault my fault all my fault I killed them all._

“Root.”

The voice was gentle, quiet, strong and firm and just for her, only for her. _Help me_ , Root thought, _help_ her.

_I’m already trying,_ the Machine could have replied, but it was already too late. There was no time left. The Machine couldn’t help and Root couldn’t right the wrongs she had done (so many, _too_ many).

“We have to find Gen.” Root’s voice was a rasp and her feet were unsteady. She swayed for a moment, eyes flashing in defiance when Shaw stepped towards her, sure she would fall. But she didn’t fall, not this time.

Her God spoke in Root’s ear and she knew what had to be done.

*

The gun felt heavy in her hand, cold. She could not remember grasping it, pulling it out from where it was safely tucked into her waistband. Instinct had drawn it and instinct would have made her shoot Root. If she had too. Only if she had too. If only to stop Root from going too far, stop her from mutilating an innocent woman. Yet when it came down to it, Shaw wasn’t sure she could have pulled the trigger. Not this time.

_Root._ She said her name like a prayer, pleading for Root to listen, to hear over the rush of rage and fear and fire. And she had heard, eventually, and the gun had not been needed or noticed and Shaw slipped it away out of sight.

She left Dawson shaking where Root had let her go, felt the urge, the pull, to reach out to Root, grab on and never let go. Root’s face was ashen, her eyes wild. For a moment she was no longer Root. She was empty and cold, a lost little girl, alone and afraid. She was the whole world, all of time. She was guilt and she was pain, fear and loathing and Shaw watched with increasing concern, because surely no one could bear all that, stand tall, stand at all, live, breathe, smile and laugh and love. She was going to break, snap right in two, shatter into a million million pieces to be scattered away into the wind until gone forever.

Instinct told Shaw to stay still, to say nothing. She could only watch, feel that helpless itch in her gut, that urge to do something that she had to restrain. Moments passed, seconds, perhaps even minutes. Root’s mouth said nothing, but her eyes spoke of the turmoil within her, greater than any storm Shaw could produce. Then all at once it was gone. Root was stumbling away from her. Shaw felt her name leave her lips, a useless, empty sound that Root ignored.

After the sounds of her vomiting passed, Root climbed to unsteady, shaky feet. Yet there was steel in her eyes, a determination and self reassurance that sent Shaw back to a CIA safe house with ten hours to kill, to a stolen jet that was theirs to command, to a server room so huge it was like being lost in a maze they would never find the center of. This was _her_ Root. A Root filled with fire, with confidence. _We have to find Gen._ The transition had been so abrupt that Shaw blinked at the empty space where Root had been before following her out of the office.

The building had grown empty now. Shaw ignored the outraged school secretary, threatening to call the police, yammering on about proper school procedure and quickened her pace to catch up with Root. Outside, the town had become quiet and Root stood amongst the stillness of it, her eyes closed for a moment, breathing steadily.

“Root,” Shaw began, but the rest of the words caught in her throat. She wanted to ask what had happened in Dawson’s office, wanted to know just how far Root would have gone. That instinct gnawed at her again and she didn't have to ask, she just _knew._ Root would have gone all the way, done anything she had too. When it came to Gen, she always would. It was why she left all those long months (years) ago, set out on her solo hunt for the man who had betrayed them all; so he would never be able to hurt them again. It was why she had wrote those letters, made the promise to visit Gen’s estranged mother and set all of this in motion. Revenge was why Root had come back, but Gen was the reason why she had stayed.

Gen was why she had come home, why she let Bishop haunt her and destroy her soul.

“Someone contacted child services,” said Root. Her voice was like an icicle through the heart. “Someone with a grudge.”

Shaw stiffened and when Root’s eyes met hers, she knew that Root knew. _The Machine,_ Shaw thought. _The Machine’s talking to her again._

“Cody Grayson…” said Shaw and swallowed.

“The bar fight?”

Shaw nodded and glanced at her bandaged knuckles. Suddenly she wanted to tear it off, expose her wounds, make herself bleed and hurt all over again.

“We need to talk to him,” said Root. “Find out exactly what he said and to who.”

Even as Root walked away, Shaw opened her mouth to protest. But this wasn't Root talking, wasn’t Root commanding her feet to move in the direction of Cody Grayson’s shack of a home. It was the Machine. Root was still in there somewhere, but for now the Machine had taken over, was telling them what to do, protecting Gen in the only way that it could. Shaw followed, a growing sense of urgency in her gut that felt like a hard rock, pulling her down. She wondered where Gen was now, if she was okay, if she was brave or scared. If she knew they were coming for her.

They said nothing as the made their way through Bishop’s streets and across the old train tracks that separated the “good” part of town from the “bad”. Yet it was all the same to Shaw. She saw no good here, nor bad. Just a grey haze over the lives of everyone that lived here. It was all about choices. Some made good choices, others bad. And then there were people like her and Root, who chose both good and bad and everything inbetween. The why of those choices mattered. _Do good, Sam_ , her father had told her when she was very young. _Just do your best to do good._ And she had. Every choice she had made had been carefully thought out: good or bad? And she always tried to go with the better choice, the one that would help the most, regardless of her own thoughts on the matter. Serve her country, become a doctor, kill terrorists, save people for an all-knowing AI… _Would dad have been proud?_ She hoped so. She hoped he wouldn’t be ashamed of her mistakes. And there was so many of them.

The neighbourhoods grew shabbier the closer they got to the edge of town. Shaw’s eyes darted from Root and up and down the empty streets, expecting to be ambushed at any moment. Where was the sheriff? Still at the house? Out looking for them? Making enquiries about who they really were? Uncovering the truths that she and Root were trying so hard to keep carefully hidden?

They wouldn’t be able to stay here after this, Shaw realised. No matter the outcome, Bishop would be compromised. She thought Root would be pleased about this, this silver lining amongst the dark gray clouds. For months the Machine had made Root stay here, reliving her past, drowning in the memories of what she could not change-

( _The sound of steel scraping against tarmac, the windshield shattering into tiny pieces, leaving a trail of their path, their end, like breadcrumbs. The tug of the seat belt against her chest, the jolt in her stomach, a whooshing sensation like she was flying, like she was on her favourite rollercoaster with no hands holding on even though mâmân was so scared, eyes shut tight but all Sameen could do was grin as the wind whipped at her hair, made her eyes water. The sirens, a flashing blue that was oddly pretty in the night. The taste of the sandwich on her tongue, white bread and peanut butter. No jelly though, she had thought with disappointment. The hot dog at the game had been so long ago and she was so hungry and cold and tired of the questions, the looks, the whispers they thought she couldn’t hear._ There’s something wrong with her _. A stranger's voice, her mother’s voice and_ she’s our Sameen, _said like a promise._ )

Shaw blinked, the memory was gone and they were outside the door to Cody Grayson’s house. Root knocked, her hand in a fist and punching the door, ready to knock it down if she had to. Shaw felt for the gun at her back, cold and hard and she wondered if she would have to use it, if Root would lose control again. If Shaw would let her.

The door slithered open a crack and Cody Grayson’s one good eye peered warily out at them. Then his head snapped back as Root forced the door open, the wood colliding with his nose. A loud _crack_ and blood gushed out of his nostrils, trailing down his mouth to drip off his chin and onto his shirt and the floor.

“You’ve been telling stories, Cody,” said Root. She stalked towards him, like a vampire queen seeking her prey, and he stumbled away from her until the wall at his back would let him go no further. Cody Grayson cowered beneath Root, back pressed so hard against the peeling and stained wall like he wished it would open up and swallow him because anything was better than facing Root. Shaw put her hand on her gun, but didn’t draw it, not yet. The urge to shoot Cody in the face was too strong.

“I-I…” Cody stammered. He swallowed and found some courage, his shoulders straightening ever so slightly. “You’re both crazy. She wasn’t safe with you. I was-”

_I was only doing the right thing_ , Shaw thought he was going to say, but Root had took a small step towards him and all his courage fled from the icy wrath in her eyes.

“Oh, Cody…” said Root, as if she were genuinely sorry. She was toying with him, softening him up, waiting until he felt just that tiny bit safe before she struck. “You have _no_ idea what we’re capable of.”

“You’re not even her real parents,” Cody blurted with the last of his nerve. Root stiffened and alarm bells went off in Shaw’s head. Everything seemed to slip away from her then. She wasn’t in Cody’s miserable trailer anymore, she wasn’t even in Bishop. She was in her apartment in New York, the one the Machine had given her after they took out Samaritan. The one Root had oh so subtly moved into without either of them talking about it, without either of them noticing. And Gen… for a brief time, actually happy that summer. Happy and smiling and safe and just a _kid_. A pain in the ass, but oddly not that bad to be around. Good taste in food - _too good, there was never enough ice cream after she moved in -_ slightly worse taste in movies, but not that bad overall. They had made it work in New York and living in Bishop, hiding in this miserable town, had been a poor shadow of it. Gen hadn’t been happy or safe in a long time. None of them had.

_I don’t do happy_ , Shaw thought, but it was a lie. She wanted Gen back, wanted to take her home, make her safe, make them all safe, find that happiness again, that contentment from summertime in New York, that time before Jason betrayed them, before Root ran away, before before _before_ …

“What do you know about Gen’s parents?” Root’s voice was like a knife cutting through Cody. Shaw watched as he flinched, as his face paled. He was nothing but a coward standing before them, trembling. Without the alcohol firing through his bloodstream, he didn’t have the boldness to fight them, to resist. Sweat beaded his forehead, trailed down his temples. His skin had turned a pasty white, except for the places around his bad eye marked with a yellowing bruise, the red and swollen jaw - remnants of the barfight with Shaw.

That night was mostly a haze in her mind. She could remember the burn of the first whisky down her throat, signalling the bartender for another, the fleeting thought of telling him to just leave her the bottle. Instead she had ordered a beer to go with her second scotch and sipped at it until it grew warm before ordering more of the hard liquor. She hadn’t seen Cody come in with his buddies, couldn’t remember if he had already been there the whole time; watching, waiting. By the time he appeared at the bar for another round, Shaw was well and truly drunk, most of her senses dulled. And yet she still had that awareness of where she was, that frustration, that stillness that was surrounding her, cloying and suffocating like being trapped in wet cement and when it hardened she would be lost, stuck in the same place forever.

Shaw hadn’t been the one to pull the first punch, but she had goaded Cody into it. A few well chosen words and a mocking smirk was enough to set off his anger. The punch had been pretty feeble, even if Shaw was expecting it. Although maybe that was just the alcohol dulling the pain. His fist had hit her chin, bursting her lip on her teeth. She could remember clearly the brief throb of pain, the sting of it, the taste of blood in her mouth, coppery and warm. She had spat on the floor, slowly, carefully, glad she hadn’t lost a tooth. And now Cody was the one smirking. He’d put her in her place and now he felt brave, grinned at his buddies and took his drink from the startled but surprisingly calm bartender. This was not his first bar fight and perhaps he knew it wasn’t yet over. But Cody thought it was and when Shaw’s empty beer bottle smashed against the back of his head, he lurched forward against the bar in surprise, spilling his drink all up his arm and over the front of his worn and faded flannel shirt. He swung for her again, but anger made him sloppy and she easily dodged him.

Shaw couldn’t remember how she had eventually gotten the black eye, she hadn’t felt the pain of that either. Nothing he inflicted on her seemed to touch her and yet when her own fist connected with his jaw, she felt the force of it all through her wrist and up her arm, felt the sting as the skin of her knuckles cracked open and began to bleed. The fight lasted long enough for them to thoroughly trash the place, long enough for Cody’s buddies to realise he wasn’t going to win this fight and intervene on his behalf. They pulled Shaw and Cody apart and the bartender kicked them all out on the street, indifferent to the fight continuing out there, uncaring that Shaw was now outnumbered, just as long as it wasn’t in _his_ bar.

Shaw would have fought them all and yet Cody’s buddies did nothing more than sneer at her. Perhaps Cody had signalled to them not to bother, muttered _let it go_ , no sense in all of them taking a beating that night. Far more likely it was the storm in Shaw’s eyes that had scared them off, made them frightened of this small and angry woman. Cody had underestimated her and his buddies weren’t about to make the same mistake. So instead they carried him home and left Shaw bleeding and cold outside the _Razorback_ with nowhere else to go but home.

And because of that one stupid fight, Cody had… done what? How could he possibly know the truth about Gen’s parents, why they were here in Bishop?

“I know enough,” said Cody. And although there was no confidence left in his voice, Shaw believed him. _He knows enough to do the damage, enough so it can’t be undone._

“What did you do?” Root asked. There was still that same fight in her voice, the fiery anger that she had displayed in Dawson’s office, yet there was fear in there too. Shaw could hear it clearly, hear it better than anything else. That fear drowned out all other sounds and it echoed within her, mirroring her own concern, sparking that urgency in her gut, the adrenaline in her veins.

Suddenly, she could no longer look at Root, or Cody, or this shithole of a house. She wanted out, to run, to _do_ something, anything. She felt for the gun at her back and the cold hardness of it grounded her a little. With a weapon in her hand, Shaw was in control, Shaw was fighting. She was the eye of the storm and nothing could touch her. Everything that came near her would be blown away, would be torn apart and Cody was so close, so _weak_ , and oh how she wanted to shoot him, watch him bleed and cry and scream. And it would be so easy, so familiar and yet… it wasn’t the better choice.

What would Mike Shaw have done if it was his kid missing and he was faced with Cody Grayson? If it was his Sameen in danger and time was running out and he needed the information _now_?

But her father was dead and in reality, Sameen Shaw had no idea what he would have done. _Try to do good, Sam. If you can do anything, do good._ But the words, the memories, were fading, becoming distant. Soon she wouldn’t be able to remember his voice, see his face when she closed her eyes. And even now she wasn’t sure what she saw was an exact copy of the real thing, if she had been misremembering all these years.

She hadn’t bothered to keep anything from that old life, not after her mother had died. Mâmân was gone and with her so had that part of Sameen’s life. She left everything behind. She tried to forget, but memories had a way of returning when you least expected them. _A flash of light she was sure, later, that she had imagined. The scraping of the metal so_ loud, _so unlike anything she had ever heard before. Sameen hadn’t made a sound but her father, her bâbâ, had yelled, cursed, reached for his daughter even though he couldn’t stretch that far behind the seats, could do nothing because it was already too late. The look in his eyes… terror. She had never seen her father look scared before, never ever and he died with the terror covering his face like a horrid halloween mask and Sameen had stared and stared and wondered when he would wake up and knew, deep down, that he would never, not anymore, he was dead and gone and she was hungry and cold…_

_And alone_ , Sameen thought now and looked at Root. For a moment, all she could see was bâbâ, that same terror, that _knowing_ that this was the end and there was nothing to be done. Her insides seemed to freeze then, a coldness so potent she almost shivered and she had to look away, blink hard until the memories were banished.

When she opened her eyes again she was looking into the face of a frightened child.

“Root…” said Shaw and Root turned, followed her gaze and the two of them stared into the frightened eyes of Megan Grayson.

“Meg,” said Root and moved so fast towards the girl that Meg flinched away, cowering in the doorway to her bedroom. The movement stilled Root and for a moment she looked helpless, glancing at Shaw who could only shrug and turn away so the kid couldn’t see the hand resting on her gun.

“Is Gen okay?” Meg asked, her eyes wide, her voice shaking slightly. “Has her dad…”

“What do you know about her dad, Meg?” Root’s voice was gentler now, but there was still an urgency deep within and she knelt before Meg until she was the one that had to look up.

“Sh-she told me about him,” said Meg. Her eyes darted frantically from Root to her own father and back. Cody looked about ready to interrupt, but one angry glare from Shaw and he kept his mouth shut. “Ah-about her mom. How he…”

“It’s okay,” said Root so softly that Shaw could barely hear.

“She… Gen just needed someone to talk to. I think. She… she was so sad, so…”

“I know,” said Root and there was so much guilt in those two words that Shaw had to look away. Her gaze found Cody’s and she could tell by his look that this wasn’t news to him. Either he had been eavesdropping when Gen confessed everything to her friend or, more likely, he had beaten and threatened the information out of his daughter.

“She made me promise not to say anything,” Meg continued. She was crying now, tears silently tracking down her face and she wiped them away, defiantly and angrily. “I didn’t want… What did you do, dad?” She looked away from Root and towards her father and any fear he had instilled in her before was suddenly gone.

Cody said nothing, not until Root climbed back to her feet and stepped towards him once again. “That’s a good question, Cody,” she said icily. “Tell us what you did.”

He swallowed, his back still pressed heavily against the wall like his shirt was glued to it and looked from Root to his daughter to Shaw. He was outnumbered and Shaw could see the realisation slowly sharpen his eyes: if he didn’t talk willingly, Root and Shaw were only going to _force_ him to. Root’s taser, Shaw’s fists… Cody knew exactly what they were capable of and now he couldn’t deny it, couldn’t pretend that he was innocent, that Gen wasn’t in any real danger. That he was _only doing the right thing_.

“I know people who know people,” said Cody and had the audacity to shrug as if it were no big deal. “Guy like that… wasn’t hard to find.”

“Why?” said Root. Her hands were clenched into fists so tight her knuckles had turned white and Shaw didn’t know if she was trying to keep her anger under control or her fear or both.

“A girl should be with her father,” said Cody and glanced at his daughter, but Meg refused to look at him. She looked disgusted, ashamed that she had betrayed Gen’s trust. Shaw wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t find the words, the comfort that Meg so desperately needed. Instead, she said, “Bullshit,” and watched as Cody flinched. “This was about revenge.”

Both Root and Shaw had humiliated him. Perhaps he could have forgiven Root, despite the history between them, but Shaw… Shaw had bested him in front of his buddies, made him look weak and pathetic and his ego couldn’t take it.

“So what if it was, _bitch_?” Cody spat. His eyes had darkened like they had that night of the fight, his bad one a painful squint as he sneered at her. If it was supposed to be intimidating, it didn’t work on Shaw, doubtful it would have much effect on Root either, but she had to give him credit for still trying, for trying to salvage what little pride he had left.

“Who’s idea was it to call child services?” asked Root. There was a stiffness to her voice that made Shaw think the question had come from the Machine.

“Volkov’s,” said Cody. “So it would be easier to get to the girl.” _So he wouldn’t have to face us_ , Shaw thought. Cody was smirking now. Now that he was confessing everything, rubbing in their faces what he had done, he seemed to find a smugness that gave him confidence. There was an arrogance in that confidence, but it wasn’t the arrogance of a man who controlled and dominated everyone he met. It was an adolescent arrogance and, for a moment, Shaw could see that kid he had been. The kid who had hung around Root and her friend, who teased and bullied and harassed them just because he _could_ , because they were nothing more than little girls. Two decades later and that same arrogance was used against his daughter. He bullied her, hit her, tried to control every aspect of her life, just because he could. Just because no one was trying to stop him.

The urge to pull her gun out and empty a few rounds in his face was stronger than ever and it was only her own father’s voice that kept Shaw still. _Try to do good, Sam…_

It had seemed like such an easy concept when she was a kid. When she was older, when she had signed up for her first tour of duty with the marines to help pay for med school, she discovered taking lives was just as easy as saving them. And it was a good choice; if they were bad guys, if she was serving her country, protecting people. Just like bâbâ used to do. She used to see it as a balance. For every life she took, there was always someone else further down the line that she would save; a fellow soldier bleeding out from an IED ambush, some random idiot who had just happened to stab himself in the foot during _her_ shift when she was halfway through her residency. She had saved Gen’s life too, more than once, but it was that first time that stuck with her the most. And the medal, afterwards, the awkward hug, the slow realisation that Gen wasn’t a one off, that she wouldn’t be totally out of Shaw’s life forever. And Root… how many times had she saved Root? How many gunshots had she fixed up? How many firefights had she intervened in at the last minute before Root could become totally overwhelmed? Far too many over the years. And every one had been a rush. There had always been a _purpose_. Some unknown piece to the jigsaw puzzle that was their fight against Samaritan. Other times it had just been an irrelevant number gone wrong. And every time it felt right, it felt _good._ She was doing good, making the right choices.

She thought she was making the right choice that day in Moscow. That the life she took would balance out somewhere down the line. She had been wrong, though. Oh she had been _so_ wrong. Instead of killing Gen’s father like she had meant to, instead of protecting her, Shaw had killed the wrong man - not that he was innocent, the world wasn’t exactly at a loss without him - but that night in Moscow, with the rain beating down heavily, the cold creeping in as winter approached, consequences had been set in motion. Consequences that Shaw could never have predicted. And, instead of saving lives down the road, lives had been ruined, a child - unborn and innocent and with no idea of the shittiness of the world - was lost and Gen was in more danger than ever.

All because of Shaw. Because she had made the wrong choice.

And it stayed with her, that choice. It sat heavy in her gut, a weight that pulled every so often to remind her what she had done. All she had to do was look at Root and Gen to see the consequences. _But we’re together_ , Shaw reminded herself. One good thing had come out of this mess. They were together. They weren’t happy or safe or okay, but they were together. And all of a sudden, whatever Shaw had done, whatever bad choices she had made, didn’t matter so much as long as she made the right choice _now._

_Get Gen back. We have to get her back._

A goal, a _purpose_. Now that she had one again, something seemed to loosen within Shaw. Only now did she realise, since coming to Bishop - since coming back from Moscow, really - that part of her had been restrained, tied up to float unwillingly down a river, wide and deep, its banks so very far away and that current… that current dragging her further on and on. She still didn’t know where she was going, where that river ended, but she was free now, she could swim back if she wanted, she could reach the banks, get to shore, leave the river all together. For a moment, she could see it. See the river and its turbulent waters sparkling in the sunlight. And on the left bank… a figure, face darkened by shadows cast from the forest of trees that surrounded the river on both sides. _Bâbâ..._ Her father, she was sure, watching her. She wanted to see his face, but he was too far away, the shadows were too thick, too dark.

She was forgetting what he looked like when he was proud of her. That spark in his eyes, the small smile on his face, the _love_. The last time she had seen that look was the day she brought home her report card… three days before he died. Nothing but straight As. And he had kissed her cheek, hugged her even though Sameen did not like to be hugged. But even her eight year old self could sense it was more for him than for her and she let it happen. Years later and Shaw could still feel his strong arms around her, smell the cologne he had been wearing, like cut flowers and spice. The football game had been a celebration, her reward for doing so well… if only she had gotten a few Fs, perhaps they would never have gone to the game, never would have been in the accident, never never _never_ …

_No_ , Shaw thought. What-ifs and should-have-beens were not something she dwelled on. _Ever_. And she refused to start now. Because if she did… if she let those thoughts take over… then they would never find Gen.

“We have to go,” said Root or the Machine or both and Shaw nodded, forced herself to lock her father up in some dark and distant part of her mind.

When Cody laughed, a humourless and rotting sound, it was Root and not the Machine that loomed towards him. But it was Shaw who got there first. “What the hell are you two gonna d-”

Her punch was swift, unexpected and yet so familiar. She hit his jaw, just like she had that night in the Razorback and her still healing knuckles stung with new pain, fresh blood seeping through the dirty bandages wrapped around her hand. Cody’s head snapped back against the wall with so much force that his eyes slid closed, his body slithering to the floor in a heap.

“That never gets old,” Shaw muttered and when she turned around, she thought she could see the hint of a smirk on Root’s face. It was gone all too quickly, if it had ever been there at all and Root was already heading out the door, back towards Bishop, towards Gen and her father and whatever they were going to find there. Shaw made to follow, but a voice behind her stilled her footsteps.

“You’re going to save her, right?”

“Yes,” said Shaw and thought, _it might already be too late._ She couldn’t look Meg Grayson in the eye, she found, and instead looked at the pathetic bundle that was her father on the floor. “You gonna be alright here, kid?”

Meg nodded with more confidence than Shaw thought was possible.

“I wouldn’t wanna be here when he wakes up,” said Shaw. If Cody couldn’t take out his anger and revenge on Shaw or Root… well, Meg was an easy target.

“I’ll be okay,” said Meg. She was looking at her father, biting her bottom lip. She looked sad and nostalgic all at once and only then did Shaw begin to wonder if Cody had always been like this. If being a shitty father was born of circumstance rather than something ingrained in his blood. It didn’t matter, she supposed. Not anymore. The damage was already done.

“If you need to get out of here…” Shaw rummaged around in her pocket for a moment and pulled out a set of keys. Quickly and efficiently, she removed the key that unlocked the front door to their little house in Bishop. Shaw didn’t know if the sheriff was still hanging around or not, but she would keep Meg safe, Shaw was sure of that. She tossed the key across the room and smiled when Meg caught it. “We’ll tell Gen you’re waiting for her.”

Meg smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, like she too thought it might already be too late.


	48. Part 3: Chapter 48

They retrieved the car from where Shaw had parked it haphazardly on the curb outside Lhars Junior High and she had them speeding off out of Bishop before the doors were closed and their seatbelts were on. It was close to rush hour, but Bishop was a small town and rush hour in Bishop meant only a few extra cars on the roads leading out of town and the highway, usually empty, now teeming with cars from both directions. They rushed by and Shaw had to slow, wait for a gap, then burn rubber as she sped into the fast lane heading towards Corpus Christi. The road began to clear after that. _The Machine_ , Shaw thought, glancing at Root and envying the direct line in her ear. She was conscious of each moment passing by, the seconds ticking off into minutes… How long had it been since they took Gen from school? An hour? More? And Volkov… did he have her yet?

Her questions went unanswered and if the Machine was communicating with Root, she conveyed nothing more since telling Shaw to drive towards the city and fast.

So that was what Shaw did; the speedometer needle rapidly jerking upward, the engine roaring in her ears, her eyes on the road and all her focus on making sure she didn’t crash.

_Metal scraping against tarmac, glass shattering, the jerk of her seatbelt against her chest, so tight she can’t breathe…_

The memories came unbidden, as they always did lately. Her father’s face swam in front of her eyes and she refused to blink him away, tried to see past him to the road ahead, tried to forget the dead look in his once so warm brown eyes…

“Take the turn-off half a mile ahead.”

Root’s voice was so sudden, so unexpected in the silence of the car that Shaw flinched. Her father disappeared and she was grateful for Root then, for grounding her in the here and now, in the present and not the past.

“What’s half a mile ahead?” Shaw asked, slowing slightly so she wouldn’t miss the turn-off.

The briefest of hesitations and Shaw knew that whatever the Machine was telling Root, it had her scared. “The work road to a private airfield. Shaw… if she gets on that plane…”

“She won’t,” said Shaw and pressed her foot more heavily on the accelerator. She was already going too fast, but the car stayed under her control, following her commands and when the turn-off approached, Root had to hold on as Shaw swerved the car off the highway, the wheels squealing in protest. There was a moment of doubt as the car swerved unsteadily on the gravel road, the firm sureness of the highway tarmac far behind. Only when she had the car firmly under her control again did Shaw allow the implications of what Root had said fill her head. _If she gets on that plane…_ They would lose her. Maybe they could keep up the chase for a little while, but not even the Machine had eyes everywhere. And Volkov… Volkov was careful. He had hidden himself in plain sight once before. He could do it again. And he could hide Gen too.

“This shouldn’t have…” Root was muttering under her breath and Shaw couldn’t be sure if she was talking to her or to the Machine or just to herself. “We should have been-”

_We should have been protecting her._ I _tried though. I tried to get rid of him. He was supposed to die and never be in her life, but I failed. I failed you both._

“We’ll get her back,” said Shaw hoarsely, but Root wasn’t listening. Not to her. Only the Machine could speak to Root right now, tell her what to do. Tell _them_ what to do.

“Turn left up here,” said Root. There was an urgency in her voice. They were close, Shaw knew. And almost too late.

Shaw turned left off the gravel road and back onto tarmac. The road ahead was straight and in the distance she could see a building, the tall tower of air traffic control reaching up into the sky, like a rocket waiting for take off. The runway must have been on the other side of the building and from here Shaw could see the partial wing of small aircraft, hear its engines whirring in the distance. _We’re too late_ , she thought, but the plane was only turning, slowly. It wasn’t yet gunning down the runway.

Root must have had the same thought, because she said, “They’re still inside.” And that urgency filled her voice again, filled Shaw and she increased their speed until the world outside was a blur, until the car was screaming from its engines, from the tires, from the very metal frame itself. The building loomed and yet Shaw did not slow. She was vaguely aware of movement outside the car, of a van parked outside the airfield. Dark paint, dark windows. And the two thugs standing outside it. They could see them coming, this fast moving target. Fast, but big.

“Sameen…”

Wordlessly, Shaw handed Root her gun. There was no hesitation from Root as she took it, as she lowered the passenger window and began firing. Her shots were careful, sure and the two Russian mafia thugs dived out of the way behind the van as Shaw pulled the car up to a skidding halt right where they had been only moments before.

The car rammed into the side of the van, the front bumper scraping against the side with an ear splitting screech, leaving a silver grey trail where the paint had once been. The van rocked for a moment before settling back on its tires and the engine of their SUV ticked-over, thick gray smoke pouring out of the hood in great big puffs. Shaw groaned, her neck aching and the fleeting thought that she was perhaps nearing that age where she was getting a bit too old for this. Her body, anyway. Her mind however… her mind craved the rush. There was nothing else in the world like it. The rush of a speeding car, still under her control. The _thrill_ from firing a bullet and taking out all the bad guys… _this_ she was made for. This she craved and relished and she couldn’t quite match the feeling anywhere else. Excitement thrummed in her veins, made her skin tingle. Not many things in her life gave her that rush and not often. But when it happened, when the blood flowed fast through her body, when her heart hammered in her chest and the adrenaline set every nerve ending on fire, then and only _then_ , did Sameen Shaw feel truly alive.

Root was out of the car before Shaw, the gun still firing in her hand. Her arm was steady, her eyes wide with a ruthlessness that was familiar. It was cold, calculated, _careful_ and nothing like the hot mess Root had displayed in Dawson’s office. Shaw watched her for a moment, remembering. All the times _before;_ before Jason, before Volkov, before…

“Shaw!”

She got out of the car. Swung around the back and opened the trunk. Shaw always expected this day to come, they both had, and she had made sure they were well prepared for it. Lifting up the flap at the bottom of the spacious trunk, Shaw revealed a hidden compartment filled with weapons and spare ammunition. Quickly, she replaced the pistol she had given to Root with a new one, deliberated over the shotgun or the automatic rifle for a moment before deciding on the rifle and snatching it up, slinging it over her shoulder by the strap. Then she shoved her pockets full with as much ammunition as she could carry. This all took a few seconds and by the time Shaw was finished, ready to face whatever awaited them in the small airport, Root had rounded to the back of the car, Shaw’s gun dangling lazily in her hand.

“You know,” said Root conversationally, “I never realised until now how satisfying blowing out a person’s kneecaps could be.”

Shaw glanced towards the van. The two thugs had retreated behind it for safety on their approach, but Shaw could see the feet of one of them. Scuffed work books and dirty denim jeans, now stained a purpling red from the ruin of his knees. He didn’t move and Shaw didn’t care enough to go check if he was alive or dead. If Root had restrained herself it was unexpected and perhaps the Machine's influence. _No_ , Shaw thought, _she's not like that anymore. Not like_ you. _Killing doesn't come as easily to her now._

“You ready for this?” Shaw handed Root a second pistol, appreciated the weak smile she received in return.

“Are you?” asked Root.

Shaw didn’t have an answer for that. It had been awhile since either of them had been in an actual gunfight and hours spent at the firing range had nothing on the chaos of a real fight. Yet they were both determined to get Gen back, to keep her safe. Fear wasn’t something Shaw experienced, instead there was a caution to her movements arising from years of training, from similar situations. But she wondered if Root was, if she would freeze up the moment they got inside. If her infamous recklessness would throw all caution and care out the window only for it to fall from a hundred stories up, splattering on the earth in an unrecognisable mess.

“Root,” Shaw began, unsure what to say but needing to say _something_. Something reassuring, something real. Instead she said, “How many are inside?”

“Seven,” said Root. She didn’t look at Shaw as she tucked away spare ammo into her jacket. “Including Volkov.”

Shaw started at that. She hadn’t been expecting him to show up, to get his hands dirty. Whatever happened next, no matter the outcome, this would end today. They both knew it and Volkov probably knew it too. It made that sense of caution inside her flair up, made her instincts burn. They were outnumbered, outgunned. And Volkov had the jump start on them. He had planned this out carefully, ruthlessly and Shaw knew, knew because it was what she would have done, that he had factored _her_ into his plans. That he was ready for them to come in, guns blazing.

“Root,” said Shaw, her voice suddenly tense. “Be careful in there.”

Her eyes met Shaw’s and no words were needed. Yet so much was said between them in the silence. It all seemed too much to Shaw then, too big. She longed for the emptiness, for the numbness that made her life what it always had been. Dull, quiet. Lifeless. Everything was so much more colourful with Root and Gen around, so much louder and brighter and _real_.

The recent weeks had heightened everything. The accident on the highway. The boy, the dead father… And now Gen. They might lose her, might get themselves killed trying to save her. But it was the better choice, the _only_ choice. The reason why she was here, after all, why they were both here, was to protect Gen. Their purpose, their mission and yet it was so much beyond that. It was more than a job, more than the Machine. Bigger than either of them. And as Shaw stared at Root, she wondered if she knew. If she could feel it too. The pull; towards the airport, towards Gen and her father. A pull that was so strong nothing could break it. Not what they did next and nothing they may have done before. What mattered was _now_ and that pull, that tug that had brought them here to Bishop, that had anchored them and made them stay. For Gen, for each other. For themselves.

“Let's do this,” said Root and Shaw nodded, letting Root take the lead, allowing the Machine to guide them.

They moved cautiously but quickly. The building was square, originally a sparkling white that had dulled down to a gloomy grey over the years. Root approached the main entrance, never hesitating and Shaw followed, the rifle in her hands, her breathing steady, focus narrowed.

“Duck left,” said Root, darting through the door, both guns firing. Shaw was only a few steps behind her, moving left as Root had instructed. She took cover behind a large pillar, her body shielded while she took a quick peek at what they were facing. Seven men as the Machine had said. All armed. And Volkov at the far end of the room, one hand clutching a pistol, the other firmly grasping Gen by the shoulder. For a moment, she was all Shaw could focus on. Those wide, terrified eyes; her face looking younger than it had ever been. When she saw Root begin firing away, relief flooded her face while anger filled her father’s. And he tugged on her roughly, shouting at his men in Russian even as they began firing back. Shaw let off a few shots at those closest to Gen, careful and precise and ducked back behind her cover when the guns turned on her. She glanced at Root to her right. Watched as she dodged and weaved her way between bullets, firing without aiming, letting the Machine guide her. She could keep that up only for so long, Shaw knew and fired her rifle at one of the men who had tried to flank her, rounding the sparse chairs of the waiting area as he fired wildly at Root. He took three bullets to the chest and went down. Shaw swung her gun around, looking for her next target.

Movement at the far end of the room caught her attention. Volkov and Gen were nearing the exit. But Gen was fighting back and Shaw felt a swell of pride in her chest as she watched Gen kick her father in the shin, wrench away from his grip and scramble away from him. That caution in her gut flared up again as Gen’s feet moved unsteadily. She was wide out in the open, right in the middle of the crossfire. An easy target.

One of Volkov’s men moved towards her as the chaos swept around the room, the gunfire loud and ringing in their ears. Shaw hit him with a bullet in the shoulder just as his fingers brushed against Gen’s arm. He jerked back wildly, his gun flying out of his hand as he stumbled into one of the chairs, falling and sprawling onto the floor.

“Get Gen,” Root yelled from where she was crouched in a corner, quickly reloading her weapons. Her position didn't give her much cover but Gen was still out in the open, Volkov regaining his composure a few paces behind her. Shaw let off several rounds in the direction of the guys converging on Root while her feet moved quickly towards Gen. She kept her eyes on Volkov. She was halfway to Gen when he noticed her. When he raised his gun at his daughter's head.

Shaw fired at him. Missed. Quickly closed the gap between her and Gen and pushed her down out of the line of fire. But Volkov had gotten off a shot and only when the heat burned in her right shoulder did Shaw realise she had been hit. She could hear Root calling to her from a distance, so far away, so out of reach. Warm blood flowed down her arm, suddenly feeling weak and she dropped the rifle, grabbed Gen with her left hand and pulled her towards cover.

“S-shaw.” Gen’s face was pale, her voice shaky. Shaw could feel her trembling beneath her fingertips.

“Stay down,” Shaw ordered. She snatched up her pistol with her right hand without thinking, dropped it. She let out curse and peeked out from behind cover. The gunfire had quietened, only two of Volkov’s men remained standing and they were retreating, following their leader to the exit. Volkov dashed to safety while Root fired at him. She was moving towards Shaw and Gen. Her face a mask of pure determination and she pulled the trigger like the guns were a part of her, like they were one. _God mode_ , Shaw thought and for a moment it seemed like there was a golden halo around Root, like she was the brightest thing in the world and everything and everyone around her was dull, washed of all colour.

Suddenly, crouched as she was seemed to take up all of her energy. And Shaw stumbled backwards as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Shaw’s back hit the wall and she slid to the floor. Her right shoulder burned with pain, even as the tips of her fingers seemed to grow numb with the blood pouring out of her bright and red and sticky. The gunfire had stopped now but there was a roaring in her ears so loud that when she closed her eyes she was back on the bleachers, in the middle of the crowd, her father sitting next to her as he cheered on the quarterback, urging him on, giving his voice to the momentum, to the speed in his legs, to the sureness of his feet as he ran, ran, ran down the field, sliding across the neatly cut turf, sliding into the winning touchdown. Then the crowd was on its feet, screaming and whistling and celebrating, the roar of it sweeping everyone into it and Sameen had been right there, right in the middle, cheering along and for the briefest of moments she felt it. Felt that excitement, the joy, the pride. It swelled in her chest until she thought she would burst, until she thought it could raise her up, send her flying up into the sky higher and higher and higher. Then the crowd settled, back to its dull fuzzing purr as the supporters dispersed from the stands. And the swelling inside her deflated. Sameen let out a breath, letting go of the feeling inside of her, knowing she couldn't hold onto it for much longer. But that was okay because it had been there, it had been real. And even as her father took her hand in his, leading her out of the stadium, she felt a warmth from the tip of her fingers, traveling up her arm right to her chest where it lingered until his hand let go and they were in the car heading home. Heading back to the base, to mâmân. Back to the dull, familiar quiet of her life.

But it was fading. The feeling in her chest that night, her father's face as he smiled at her. Fading so fast until she couldn't see or feel anything anymore, until the world was dark and cold and Sameen Shaw was alone. So alone but not afraid, never afraid.

Pain flared in her shoulder and Shaw suddenly remembered where she was. Not the football game, not the car as it flipped on its back and skidded along tarmac, not staring at her father’s dead, empty eyes. She was in Texas. An airfield. Gen…

Pressure on her wound and Shaw forced her eyes open, tried to smile reassuringly as she met Root’s worried face.

“Don't you dare die on me, Sameen.”

“You're not getting rid of me that easily,” Shaw muttered and tried to smirk, thought it probably looked more like a grimace. The pain was intense but even that too was fading.

Root’s hands were warm where she was so cold and the blood pouring out of her fast and steady hardly seemed to matter. Root was here and Gen was safe…

“Gen,” Shaw mumbled and tried to look around. Even that was difficult, but the look in Root’s eyes told her everything. “Took… my gun.”

But Root didn’t move and the pressure on Shaw’s shoulder increased. The pain sharpened for a moment, clearing Shaw’s head and she stared at Root until their eyes met. And they gazed at each other in the silence that followed. Silence that was so empty yet filled with all the things Shaw wanted say, all the things she _couldn't_ say.

“Sameen…” said Root breathlessly, her eyes pleading.

An impossible choice. Shaw bleeding out fast, too fast. Or Gen, heading towards danger, seeking vengeance for all the things her father had taken from her.

But there was only one good choice. Only one thing that mattered. They couldn't fail, not now. Not ever.

“Go,” said Shaw weakly, her voice croaking, her eyes closing. “Go get our girl.”


	49. Part 3: Chapter 49

Her hands were red and sticky with Sameen’s blood. But she didn't look back. Couldn't look back. If she did, she would be lost and Gen… Gen would be gone. So she forced each foot to step closer and closer towards the exit. She willed herself to stay strong, to keep it together, to not think. And each step she took seemed harder than the last, like her feet were sinking further and further into quicksand. Her body felt heavy, uncooperative. She was moving too slow - _so slow_ \- and her heart was hammering so loud in her chest, so fast and so wild that she struggled to breathe.

_Don't look back. Can't look back._

She could feel the blood on her hands and wanted to scream. There had been so much of it. _Too much too much too much._ A deep dark red, warm and wet as the colour washed out of Sameen’s face, as her skin turned cold.

_Go. Go get our girl._

But what if she failed? What if she lost Gen? Lost them both? They were the last good thing - the _only_ good thing - in her life. She had lost Daizo and Hanna, had taken the lives of many others, destroyed families. She was a killer, ruthless and cold and for so long she had been Root. And being Root was easy because Root didn't have to care, didn't have to feel guilt as she took a life, as she got the job done by any means necessary. No matter the cost.

She was still Root and yet she had changed, a long time ago. When she found the Machine and the Machine found her, _that_ was when she stopped being Root-The-Killer, became someone else, something more. But that something more was so hard to keep a hold of. It kept tugging away from her, dragging her along until it felt like her limbs would snap off, that she would break in two never to be whole again.

Perhaps Harold had always been right. That she belonged in a cage and nothing more. Trapped behind bars where she couldn't hurt anyone, where the rest of the world was safe because she wasn't in it. All she did was cause harm, destroy lives, hurt the people she loved and cared about. And yet not all cages were made out of solid metal bars. For so many months now Bishop had been her cage, her prison. She was trapped, unable to escape and unwilling because leaving would have meant putting Gen in danger and, anyway, where else did she have to go? There was nowhere else and no one else.

Harold had been wrong about one thing though. Even locked up in her prison, she could still hurt people. Everyday she lied to Sameen, pretending everything was okay. That she was fine, that she was coping. And everyday, she knew, Sameen could see the lie, see past the show Root put on and did nothing to stop Root from pushing her that little bit further away. She did it with Gen too and no wonder the kid had learned from her, followed in her footsteps and hid all the pain of her mother’s death, hid the loneliness and the fear and told the world she was okay. Because pretending you are okay is easier than admitting you’re not.

And now here they were. Shaw bleeding to death all alone, Root lost, so very lost and Gen… Gen cold and hard with the taste of revenge on her lips.

It was growing dark outside. The scent of hot tarmac and jet fuel lingered in the air. She could hear the whirring roar of the plane’s engines and Gen’s voice - so angry and loud and scared. Her hand trembled with the weight of the gun in her hand, the gun she pointed at her father. She was ready to pull the trigger, ready to end this, to get revenge.

And all Volkov did was smile.

“Gen,” said Root, slowing as she approached, her eyes never leaving Volkov. He was unarmed and the remainder of his men that had managed to flee from the carnage inside were already on board the plane. It was just the three of them now. Volkov so smug, Root barely holding it together and Gen small and broken and on the edge of losing herself completely. If she pulled that trigger, if _she_ was the one that finally put an end to this, rid them of Volkov once and for all, there would be no coming back from it. The vengeance would be sweet, perhaps even comforting at first. And Root knew, better than anyone, how good the taste of vengeance could be. It was afterwards, later in the dark, all alone with her secret that Root - _Sam_ \- began to doubt herself. Began to wonder if she had made a mistake.

When her mom got sick, real sick this time, and suddenly the medical bills were piling up, the medications so numerous and so expensive, well then Sam (Root) knew she could not let the doubt stop her. Sitting behind a computer, built from the scraps of stolen parts, it was easy for her to distance herself. If people got hurt, the wrong people, well… it hadn't mattered to her. Her hands were clean.

Later, when she finally got her hands dirty, it had been more out of necessity than any desire to watch someone die. But she had watched anyway, with a quiet, scientific curiosity as her victim slowly bled out. When she ran and got away clean, back in the safety of the safe house she had set up, she finally allowed herself to give in. Her hands shook and the bile burned in her throat as she threw up for what felt like hours. It hadn't been about vengeance, hadn't even been about the money by that point. And the next time she took a life with her own two hands they were steady and sure.

Because she trained herself not care.

And she hadn't cared for years. Years spent as Root, spent in the shadows, spent using the unassuming twang of her Texas accent, her disarming smile. Hacking people became just as easy as hacking machines. She worked alone, when she could, preferring it over relying on someone else. And with each job she took, each person she hacked, Root pulled a little bit further away from Sam Groves, from Bishop, Texas. Root was ruthless. Root was fearless. Root was lost.

There was no purpose to any of it. Life was meaningless, the world was chaos and her part in it was insignificant.

Until the Machine.

The Machine… her god, her saviour. The Machine showed her a better way, gave Root a purpose, gave her a way back to humanity, to that ability to feel vulnerable, to feel love and pain and desire.

And here Gen was, on the brink of losing all that, of losing herself, her humanity. And for what? A childish dream of revenge? The hope that, somehow, when it was all over, that revenge would keep her warm at night, somehow take the pain away. But it couldn’t, Root knew (oh _God_ , she knew). Revenge was cold and hard and it wouldn’t bring Gen’s mother back. Just like it couldn’t bring Daizo back. Or Hanna.

“Gen,” Root said again. So close now, she could reach out and touch Gen if she dared. She didn’t, though. Root could see the tension in Gen’s shoulders, could see her fist gone white, despite the fading light, with the tightness of her grip on the gun. If Root touched her, it wouldn’t be comfort Gen would receive. Nothing could comfort her anymore. And Root was wary of that gun, wary of Gen’s finger on the trigger and just how easily she could squeeze it, release a bullet that she couldn’t take back.

“Go away!” Her voice was harsh and the cold, emptiness of it scared Root, froze her in place and seemed to glue her tongue to the roof of her mouth so she couldn’t speak.

Instead she took a breath, listened to the sound of the plane’s engine, ignored the wet, sticky mess of her hands. The Machine had gone quiet and for that, just for a moment, Root was grateful.

“I need you to think about this,” said Root gently, softly and when Gen didn’t flinch, didn’t yell at her again, she dared to take a step closer. Her movements were slow and she didn’t think Gen noticed the direction she was moving in. “Because if you do this, hon… you can’t take it back.”

“He killed my mom!”

“I know,” said Root and felt her chest tighten at the sob Gen let out, felt tears well up in her own eyes. But she wouldn’t let them fall. She was keeping it together, as best she could. For Gen, for Sameen. “But _this_ … This will haunt you forever, kiddo.”

And forever was a long time. Root didn’t need to close her eyes to see the ghosts. They were everywhere.

_I’m not a sociopath, Harold. Believe me, sometimes I wish I was._

Sometimes, all the time, she wished it could be that easy. Wished that she didn’t feel the guilt like a knife in her heart, twisting and hot. The remorse sat in her gut, heavy and hard and always there. A pain that was not her own, but everyone she had ever hurt, ever killed. All those she had left behind. And, suddenly, it didn’t seem to pull her down as much, that heavy feeling. It still lingered, always would. But in that moment, as she watched Gen - scared and angry and sad and so very lost - something loosened inside of her. Her past; Hanna, Diazo and everything in-between, it would always be a part of her. But it didn’t have to _define_ her.

She remembered the book then. The book she had been reading for months now because she couldn’t bear to finish it. There was so much of it that stuck in her mind, but right here, right now, deep in the heart of Texas, with the sun still hot even as it sunk further and further towards the horizon, with Gen’s hand trembling with the weight of the gun, with the fear and desire and horror at what she was so willing to do for revenge, with all that - and perhaps in spite of it - there was one quote in particular that Root remembered with clarity. _S_ _o this is how a person can come to despise himself - knowing he's doing the wrong thing and not being able to stop._

But she had stopped. When she chose the Machine and the Machine chose her, Root _chose_ to become that better person. And, without realising it, she had become a better person without needing the Machine to guide her with instructions. There was less and less disapproving scolding from Harold, a tentative comadre developing with Reese. And Sameen… Sameen standing by her, despite all that had happened, all they had been through together. Sameen coming to Bishop, refusing to leave Gen, leave _her._ Her patience while knowing Root was holding something back.

There were tears trailing down Gen’s face. Great fat drops that dripped from her cheeks to land and sizzle on the hot ground. But there was no wracking sobs, no wailing. She was silent in her grief, in her anger, and that gave Root hope. Hope that she could turn this around, keep Gen on the right path. And even with the gun trembling violently in Gen’s grip, Root took a step closer, ignoring Volkov and his smug, arrogant smirk. Right now, all that mattered was her and Gen.

“He can’t get away with it,” said Gen. Root heard the sharpness in her voice and perhaps, on another day, under different circumstances, she would have flinched away from it, from the anger that Gen was ready to unleash on whoever was nearest. But not today, not _now_ . “ _He killed my mother!_ ”

“I know,” said Root quietly. One last step and she was in front of Gen now, blocking her aim and shielding Volkov from whatever misguided justice Gen was about to dish out.

There was a brief moment of nothing, then Gen blinked, realising how Root had slithered her way in between the gun and her father. Hesitation shined in her eyes - a sparkle that should have conveyed life and youth and all the freedom that could bring, not the anger and grief of someone who had lost too much, lost everything. How easily that sparkle of light could be extinguished, never to re-ignite. _I won’t let that happen. Not to her._

“He won’t get away with this. I _promise_ you.” But the promise tasted bitter, tasted wrong.

It was Sameen she was thinking about as she reached out carefully for the gun. Sameen alone and bleeding ( _dying_ ). The blood still clung to her hands and in the fading light it was as dark as oil, pure and unfracked. She thought of Sameen in their kitchen in Bishop (in New York during a summer none of them wanted to end) chopping and cooking with that faint smile on her lips, the smile she was unaware of, the one that was soft and real and just all _theirs_ . Root’s, Gen’s, Sameen’s… So much spoken in those smiles and yet so much more said in brief looks and kisses that could have lasted all night. She thought of all the harsh words spoken over the years, all the pain and hurt they had inflicted on each other; some of it out of spite, most of it for pleasure. Then there was those few, but precious, tender moments; words spoken with honesty, with desperation. ( _I love you. Please remember that_ ). And then… everything they couldn’t say. All that they hid to protect each other.

The gun was heavier than Root had been expecting and she felt sure it could pull her down, sink her feet deep into the ground. And yet it felt familiar in her hand, felt right, like it had belonged there all along. Perhaps it had. _Sameen’s gun_ , she thought and wondered why this felt so different, felt like so much _more_ than wielding dual pistols and aiming at kneecaps.

With her other hand, she desperately wanted to reach out to Gen. But the blood on her hands was too much ( _so much blood. Shaw,_ please _don’t die_ ).

“Go inside,” Root ordered, expecting resistance, defiance, that wilful stubborn streak that was all Gen. With her hands empty, Root now in control of the gun, it seemed like all the fight, all the _rage_ , had left Gen. The need for vengeance wasn’t so hard and cold as before. “Go help Shaw.”

Gen didn’t need to see what happened next.

_Keep her safe. Keep her alive,_ Root thought. And then, a crueler voice, mocking: if _she’s still alive._ Root ignored it. She had to. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to stay standing, nevermind hold the gun up steady and aimed at Volkov’s head.

With Gen gone and hopefully safe inside, Root turned her full attention to the man who had brought them all here. He hadn’t moved and the smirk on his face, that had been cold with amusement before, suddenly flickered as Root met his gaze, as the gun did not waver in her hand.

For a moment, she felt nothing as she stared at him. Then all the memories seemed to flood out at once. Elena Zhirova’s face, dull and washed out from the drab prison clothes and atmosphere. The letter she had slipped to Root, the letter that said all things she didn’t dare say out loud. Shaw’s disappearance in the night, leaving Root alone with Gen, leaving her to make sure she got her home safely. Life in New York; hard, but good and not quite so empty as before. Shaw coming back - hurt but never broken. Then Volkov in New York, Gen in danger, Zoe… Bishop was nothing to the pain of what had happened in New York. That collateral damage… Except Zoe - and even Reese - were more than collateral to her. They were her friends. Hell, she could admit now they were as good a family as she was ever going to get. They were just as much a part of it as Sameen and Gen had become. And this man, standing before her with all the confidence of someone who believed he was untouchable, this man deserved to die. He deserved the punishment for all the pain he had caused.

The smile on his face flickered, died. He could not turn his gaze away from the look in Root’s eyes. The eyes of a killer.

It took one to know one.

“You won’t,” he said in his thick Russian accent. It was the first she had heard him speak, really listened to his voice, but she thought she could hear doubt in it anyway, an uncertainty darkened by caution. And yet it was not the tone of his voice that rang in her head, it was the words themselves. _You won’t._ The doubt crept in and it took everything she had to keep the gun steady. No longer did it feel right. It felt slick in her hand and she knew if she tried to pull the trigger, the blood on her hand would cause her finger to slip.

_This_ was what Shaw had disappeared in Russia to go do all those months ago, this was what he deserved for coming after Gen, for causing Zoe’s miscarriage, the kidney Shaw lost in Moscow, ending Elena Zhirova’s life. And that was the worst of all, wasn’t it? He had robbed Gen of the life with her mother that she could have had. Everything good he destroyed.

Vadik Volkov deserved to die, of that Root was sure.

But she could actually do it? Could she pull the trigger and end another life?

Eight months ago, the answer would have been so easy and Volkov would already be dead. Yes, she could have done it. No hesitation. No guilt. But now…

Now she was in Texas and she had seen the aftermath of her actions, of her crimes. She remembered Angie then, could recall her face with a clear clarity that was far more substantial than any memory ought to be. She remembered the anger, the anguish (the  _I think I’m falling in love with you_ ). For awhile, there had been good times, happy times. Jokes and smiles and sex that wasn’t exactly wild and passionate, but it had been nice. It had almost been real. And as with everything in Root’s life, the good times never lasted. Angie may still be alive and breathing, but she would never be whole again, would never get her parents back, would never get to see them alive and proud of her. And that was on Root. All of it.

She was similar to Gen in that way. Parentless. Except Angie’s parents were never meant to die. Wrong place, wrong time. _Consequences._

There would be consequences for this too, for killing Volkov. Root was sure about that now.

_You won’t._

That doubt again. It made her hesitate, just long enough to give Volkov a chance, an opening. Too late, Root spotted the gun he pulled out from behind him. It was pointed at her before she could blink, before she could do anything.

There hadn’t been many moments in her life where Root felt like she was standing on a precipice, stuck between two worlds. Caught with the decision of doing what needed to be done, what was right or wrong. She wanted to do what was easy, what had come naturally to her for years. But, suddenly, Volkov’s smug smirk morphed into a smile full of warmth, meant only for her. No longer was she seeing the lips of the man who had brought her back to Bishop, but the lips of a girl who had, if only for a little while, made this place feel like home.

_I’m sorry_ , she thought and it was for herself, for Hanna and Daizo and Angie and all the rest whose names she couldn’t remember, whose faces she had never seen. Most of all it was for Gen. Because she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t unleash the vengeance Gen so desperately desired. Not now. Not anymore. That Root, the one so young and fresh from still being called Sam, the one who had plotted an elaborate game of revenge against Trent Russell, that Root was long gone. That Root was dead.

And all at once it was Volkov in front of her again. Hanna was gone and when Root lowered the gun, closed her eyes, she couldn’t see her face anymore, couldn’t remember that smile. When she tried to picture it in her mind there was only a blur, a faint sense of regret. And the pain - the pain and loss she had felt for years - it wasn’t there anymore, not on the surface where it had been for so long. If she looked really hard, deep down inside, she would find it, she knew; but the constant presence that had lingered for so long had disappeared. The ghosts were gone.

A single gunshot. So deafening after all the silent months in quiet, lonely Bishop.

Root flinched; expecting to feel pain blossom from her chest, her gut; expecting her body to jerk from the impact. When she felt nothing, when she couldn’t smell the faint coppery scent of fresh blood leaving her body, she looked up at Volkov and frowned. Except he wasn’t _up_ , he was down and blood was seeping through his shirt; a ghastly dark hole where the bullet had went in, straight to the heart. For a moment, his eyes widened, the gun skidding out of his hand to be lost somewhere on the hot tarmac. Root heard a horrible sound, one she was all too familiar with. That last breath of life. A deep gurgle as the air struggled to reach Volkov’s lungs. Then he was silent, still. Dead.

She looked at the gun in her hand, wondering if she had fired it after all. But she hadn’t and with a vague sense of hysterical amusement, she noticed the safety was still on.

Root looked over her shoulder. Her saviour was the last person she had ever expected to see here in Texas.

John Reese. Dressed in his infamous suit as always. Root watched him silently as he tucked his gun away. A nod, brief and small and barely a gesture at all. It said more than words ever could.

_That was for Zoe. That was for my child. I did what you couldn’t because he deserved it._

A killer’s eyes met hers.

It took one to know one, after all.

*

For Shaw, the pain had become a distant, dull ache. Her skin cold and clammy. Keeping her eyes open was hard, soon to be impossible. _Not good._ Not if she stayed where she was, not if she allowed the blood to keep pouring out of her.

And then there was Gen and Root. All was silent outside. Apart from the faint thrum of what she assumed was a plane’s engines, she heard nothing else. No yelling, no gunfire. Was that because Volkov had easily overpowered his daughter, snatched the gun away from her and forced her aboard the plane that would take them so very far away? Or was it because Root had taken over the situation? But why the silence? Why hadn’t they come back?

_Move, Shaw. Goddammit get_ up.

With her good arm she pressed against the floor, forcing her body upwards. Her feet slipped in something wet and viscous. Her blood, she realised as she slid back to the floor with a grunt of pain. Fire flared from her shoulder, down her arm and across her chest.

“Fuck,” she groaned and even that cost her too much. But she had to get up, had to find Gen, help Root.

In some far away place in her head, Sameen Shaw knew there was no way she was getting up from the floor. Not by herself. But she ignored that thought, just as she ignored the pain and once more attempted to climb to her feet. And it felt like a climb. It felt like Mount Everest and Shaw had lost her harness, lost her footing, was plummeting through the sky at an inconceivable speed, nothing to brace her, nothing to stop her as she crashed into the hard, rocky ground below.

This time she used the wall behind her for support, leaving a trail of bloody handprints on the stark white paint. She managed to half stand, half crouch with her knees shaking so bad she was sure they would never be able to hold her full weight. Her breathing came out in short, shallow bursts and Shaw tried to ignore all of it: the pain, the struggle for breath, the coldness that made her body shiver even as sweat slowly dripped from her face.

She had to get up. Had to help; protect Gen and Root. That was her job, her purpose. She was the wildcard, the last thing anyone would ever expect. Not even the Machine could predict her actions. Sameen Shaw defied the odds time and time again and she _had to get up._

Yet when Shaw opened her eyelids (she couldn't remember closing them and had no idea for how long she had been unconscious to the world), dizziness washed over her; a nauseating tingling sensation that started from the top of her head and quickly worked its way through her whole body. By the time it reached her knees, she couldn’t keep it up anymore. Shaw collapsed to the floor, covered in her own blood and tired… _so, so tired._

If she could stay awake, keep breathing just long enough for Root to come back, long enough for Shaw to know that they were both safe, then she thought that would be okay. Even if _she_ wasn’t going to be.

Eyes closed again. Eyelids so heavy, so insistent. Eyes sewn shut but she forced them open anyway, focused on the bright, fluorescent lights above her, ignored the darkness seeping in, fighting it with everything she had left. Not a lot - _so cold, so tired_ \- but still breathing so still fighting. Fighting until the very end.

_Close now_ , she thought, _so close._ But it had been close before; Moscow with a knife in her back; in the hot Nevada desert, a bullet in her gut and Root by her side. Root refusing to let her die, Root running away to seek revenge. Root coming back. _Root Root Root…_

Where had it all gone wrong? How had her life become so intertwined with Root’s, with Gen’s? Why had she let it? She didn’t need it, them. Anyone. Never had.

_That’s a lie_ , Sameen thought - the Sameen in her head, still young, still not quite sure of the world but more in tune with it that any other kid her age. _That’s a lie because you needed dad and mom when the world, when your own head, became too confusing, too empty and they showed you the way, showed you how to be, how to fit in the world as someone so different, how to be loved. How to be a part of something: a family, a life, a purpose._

Her purpose had never changed. Do good, help people, protect them. First a doctor, then the marines, the ISA, Finch, the Machine… What now? She couldn’t have failed. Gen had to be okay, had to be safe. And Root… Root deserved more, needed more than Shaw could give. She’d always known that, always tried, always wanted… Too late now anyway.

Something hard hit her leg and Shaw’s eyes opened sluggishly, like she was pulling apart glue. The world had become a blur now and the figure in front of her was no more than an indistinct blob. She heard words… foreign, _Russian_ … her brain couldn’t separate the syllables from each other. Each word joined together to form a long one-word sentence she couldn’t understand.

_Cold_ , she thought. She’d always found Russian to be such a cold, heartless language. Perhaps that was why she had been able to pick it up so easily.

A blink, a groan as the pain made itself known once again, just in case she had forgotten she was dying on the floor alone. She muttered something in Farsi, but the word had barely left her mouth before she forgot what she was saying, before she got a response in sharp, angry Russian. The bleariness faded a little, the blob-like shape in front of her coming into focus. A man - one of the two at the front of the building she had almost run over with the car before they bolted out of the way. One of the two that Root was supposed to have taken care of. Hadn’t killed them after all, but the guy’s left kneecap would never function properly again. His leg shook, his skin was pale and shining with sweat. And yet he didn’t look quite as bad as Shaw felt.

The gun he managed to hold steady as he pressed it hard enough into Shaw’s temple to leave a mark. More Russian, more threats. Bragging. Shaw almost laughed, would have if she wasn’t so close to death. Couldn’t this guy see she was already a goner? Why bother wasting a bullet?

“ _Do it_ ,” Shaw muttered, the words tangling on her tongue as they tried to leave her mouth. She thought she’d said it wrong, mixed up her tenses or whatever because he only frowned at her uncomprehendingly.

Then she realised he didn’t speak Farsi and she couldn’t remember how to speak a word of Russian.

_Do it, then._

There was no fear. Death was dark and empty. Death was nothing and so was her life. Whatever brightness to be found was so little, but it lightened the darkness all the same. Her father, Root, Gen… The light in her life that made the darkness seem not so bad, that rang a harmony in her head of light and colour that spread to her chest, to her whole being until it became more than light, became a song that grew louder and louder, filling her head until death meant nothing.

It was shattered instantly as the gun fired, like someone had abruptly cut the power to a stereo. Shaw expected more darkness, nothing. There was still the roar of that goddamn plane engine and then a thud, which she felt more than heard, and her own breathing so fucking hectic and loud. _Not dead then. Not yet._

Sameen opened her eyes for one last time. The Russian was gone; a heap of blood and bone and flesh near her feet. And still, so still and so dead and how the hell wasn’t that her?

“You look like shit,” said Lionel Fusco. His shadow looming over her was like a warm blanket against the cold.


	50. Part 3: Chapter 50

Two days later, Root found herself in yet another hospital in Corpus Christi, Texas. She was well beyond beginning to loathe the sceptic stench of the place, the too bright lights, the air of death and disease that lingered down every hallway, in every room. But it hardly penetrated her senses, hardly mattered to her. Not when Sameen was still in recovery, when Gen was safe but still so very affected, because soon - so very soon - she would be going home and leaving her childhood town far behind. For good this time.

With a yawn, Root trekked the familiar path from the cafeteria up to the recovery ward where they had moved Shaw from the ICU. It had been a good thing, a sign she was out of critical danger, the surgeon who had operated on Shaw assured her. But Root wouldn’t be satisfied, wouldn’t be able to let the fear go fully until Sameen opened her eyes, glared at Root and every nurse who dared come near her insisting that she needed to rest.

_Soon_ , the doctors told her, Fusco and the Machine too. _Soon, she’ll wake up. You’ll see._ But two days was a long time when the person you loved lay on the brink of death. Root had refused to leave Sameen’s side, hadn’t slept unless it was to doze off unexpectedly in the chair by Sameen’s bedside, hadn’t eaten until Reese and Fusco and the Machine in her ear insisted. And even then, Lionel had to practically drag her down to the cafeteria, stare at her sternly like she was a fussy two year old until she had chewed and swallowed enough bites to keep him satisfied. The food tasted dry and bland, but she forced it down because if Gen was making herself eat then Root felt she could only follow her example.

Gen had been silent in the two days since the climatic showdown with her father. Neither she nor Root had brought up the subject of what Gen had been so willing to do. It would come, Root knew. Sooner rather than later, Gen would have to talk about it, come to terms with it. When the dust settled and their hearts finally stopped trying to jump out of their chests, they would need to talk about it. But not yet. Not when they were still in Texas. Not when Sameen still hadn’t woken up.

Down another bland corridor that looked identical to the one she just left, Root passed the nurse’s station, nodding to the few she recognised from Sameen’s room where they had changed bandages and freshened up IV’s. They had parroted the surgeon’s words of _soon_ and _she’s out of the woods_. Empty words that meant nothing to Root and quickly the nurses stopped trying to reassure her, stopped with the pitying, sympathetic looks.

Reese had offered to stay by Shaw’s side while Root ate, knowing she would never leave Shaw on her own. At the same time, he had insisted on Fusco accompanying her. Perhaps he was thinking about that desert in Nevada, about the motel room where Shaw had hovered on the brink of death. Perhaps he was remembering Root’s fear, her anger. Her need for revenge. Maybe he expected her to go off alone in search of the last remaining Russian Bratva that were still free and worried that she would once again freeze, that neither he nor Fusco would be there to pull the trigger for her.

And so, not hungry, Root had went to eat anyway, not fancying the idea of being locked up in handcuffs again. Not that there was anyone to go out and get revenge on. Besides, Root was too tired for revenge and the events of two days ago, still fresh in her mind, reminded her that she wasn’t all that capable of revenge anymore anyway.

The hard plastic chairs lined up against the wall outside Shaw’s room were empty. Reese wasn’t where she had left him.

For a moment, the fear that had been lingering under the surface for the past forty-eight hours suddenly flared into panic. She glanced around, searching for any sign of Reese in his crumpled suit and two day five o’clock shadow. Her only thought was that they’d had to move Shaw back to the ICU, take her back into emergency surgery (move her to the morgue because that’s what they did with people they couldn’t save).

Quickly, her common sense returned. If something was wrong, the Machine would have told her or she would have passed Reese on his way to find them. He had probably just gone to the bathroom or gotten so bored that the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him and had gone off in search of coffee, went to get some fresh air.

As Root stepped towards the door to Sameen’s room, she discovered Reese had done none of those things. He was in the room with Shaw, occupying the chair that Root had spent most of the past two days in. The look on his face made her pause, hand clutching the door handle. He was talking to softly she couldn’t hear his usual deep voice through the closed door. Her eyes darted to Sameen then and something in her chest seemed to collapse, let go as relief thundered through her blood, touching every cell, every muscle, pulling her lips into the widest grin she had ever displayed since coming back to Texas.

Sameen was awake. Sameen was _alive_.

She wanted nothing more than to rush into the room, look into Sameen’s eyes, watch them stare back at her, scowl and frown and brighten just that little bit at the sight of her. She wanted to touch Sameen’s hands, her face, her chest; wanted to check for herself, to know for sure that this was real, that Shaw really was awake and this wasn’t some dream her tired brain had conjured up as she sat with her head resting atop a cafeteria table, sleeping soundly for the first time in days.

Reese’s face made her hesitate, finally step away from the door. He wasn’t frowning, but his lips were grim, curved downwards. To Root, he looked both young and older at the same time: the wiseness that came with years and years of age forcing him to talk, and with the words leaving his mouth, his body, the young innocence of hope and relief softening his features. Whatever he was saying, Root knew that it wasn’t for her to hear. She also sensed that this private moment, if she disturbed it now, would be lost forever and Reese would never get to say what he needed to say. It was one of those moments in life, rare and fragile and more breakable than glass. She stepped away from the door, retreating back towards the nurse’s station, now empty.

Only a few moments went by before the door opened and Reese made his way back out into the corridor. Root walked towards him, trying to look casual with her hands in her pockets, trying to look like she had just come from lunch and nothing had changed.

The grin wouldn’t leave her face.

“She’s awake.”

“I know,” said Root and it hit her then that it was only because of him, because of Fusco too, that Shaw had even made it to the hospital at all. At first, Root had been angry at the Machine for not telling them She had summoned Reese and Fusco to Texas; that when Gen told her friend all about what had happened to her mother, about who her father really was and why the three of them were in Bishop, the Machine had been listening. The Machine had been preparing for the worst.

_You should have told us,_ Root had muttered angrily under her breath, staring at her tired and dishevelled reflection in the mirror of the empty hospital bathroom. Sameen had still been in surgery then, fighting for her life.

But would it have made a difference if the Machine had told them? Probably not, Root realised after Shaw was moved out of the ICU, after the doctors told her the worst had passed. If the Machine had told them - told Root - that Volkov was close, that Gen was in danger, Root would have ran that very moment. Grabbed Gen and left all their things behind. At least this way it was over. Volkov was gone and Sameen was alive, so very much alive even if a little groggy as she glanced towards the door when Root came into the room.

“Hey, you,” said Root, the grin on her lips brightening her voice as well as her face. “Enjoy your nap?”

Shaw stared at her, a brief flash of pain on her face as she attempted to sit up a little. “I’ve had better.”

She grunted a little, finally became still as Root opted out of her usual chair and sat right on the bed. She could feel Sameen beneath the rough cotton hospital blanket, warm and alive. But it wasn’t enough to convince Root, not completely, not until she reached for Sameen, skin on skin as Root’s hand covered her wrist. She felt the steady beat of a pulse beneath her fingertips and smiled, gently and absently allowing her thumb to brush back and forth along the inside of Sameen’s wrist.

“You scared us,” Root murmured. _You scared me._

Shaw tensed beneath her touch but didn’t pull away. “Where’s Gen?” The sharpness in those two words told Root just how much Shaw dreaded the answer to that question.

“She’s with Lionel,” Root said calmly. “He’s taking her back to the hotel to get some sleep.”

Shaw looked like she had more questions, looked like she wouldn’t rest until Root had told her everything that had happened from the moment she had gotten shot. But, in the end, as she leaned back into hospital pillows that looked thin and lumpy, all she said was, “So… I wasn’t hallucinating Fusco, then? Glad his ugly face wasn’t the last thing I ever saw.”

Root stiffened, glanced away and tried not to think about how if Fusco _hadn’t_ been there, Sameen would most certainly be dead, probably Gen too. And if Reese hadn’t shot Volkov… Root knew she wouldn’t have been quick enough to defend herself and wasn’t sure if she would even have wanted to.

“Sorry,” Shaw muttered. “Too soon?”

Saying nothing, Root pressed her lips together tightly. She didn’t want to talk (think) about how close Shaw had come to death, how close she had been to losing everything. So she changed the subject, knowing Shaw wouldn’t want to linger on the topic of her near fatal shooting anyway.

“Everything okay between you two?” Root asked, glancing over her shoulder to  where Reese had departed only minutes before. She couldn’t see him out in the hall and figured he had gone off in search of Fusco and Gen to tell them the good news. “Reese hasn’t exactly said much the past two days.”

Shaw shrugged, winced as pain shot through her injured shoulder. “He just… had some things to say.”

Once again, Root sensed that air of privacy she had seen on Reese’s face and knew it wasn’t her place to ask.

“We’re good,” Shaw continued. “I think.”

Root smiled, looked down at the hand that was still gently but tightly holding on to Sameen. She didn’t think she would ever be able to let go. Not this time. Perhaps not ever.

She was glad Reese had found it within himself to forgive and she wondered if Shaw knew, if Reese had told her he was the one that, in the end, had taken Volkov out.

“How’s Gen?” Shaw asked, eyes darting around the room as if she expected a flash of wild curly hair attached to a thirteen year old to suddenly jump out at her. It was Shaw changing the subject this time.

“She’s…” Root began, not entirely sure how to answer Shaw’s question. In truth, she didn’t really know how Gen was doing. Physically she was fine, but all Root’s time and thoughts the past two days had been occupied with worry for Sameen. She hadn’t allowed herself even a moment to consider the implications of what had happened, how the events of the past few months would impact Gen. She was still grieving for her mother, discovered she was willing to kill her father… Too much. It was all too much for anyone let alone just a kid.

“She’s coping,” Root finally said and even she could hear the doubt in her voice. Gen ate when they shoved a plate of food in her direction, slept when they led her to a bed, but in the last two days there had been no initiative to do any of that herself. And it wasn’t like Root had been doing any better. She wouldn’t have moved from Shaw’s bedside for a second if Fusco hadn’t made her. So she couldn’t exactly say _she_ was coping, and doubted that Gen could be either. “She’ll be okay once we get home.”

By home she meant New York, with Reese and Finch and Fusco, all of them together again. Home was anywhere but Bishop, just as long as Root was with Sameen, with Gen. Just as long as the three of them were together.

For so long, home had seemed so far away, so frivolous a concept to her. She hadn’t had a stable home in years. By her own choice. The moment her mother passed on, the moment she was free to leave Bishop, be who she really was, be _Root_ , she hadn’t wanted a home. Because to Root (to Sam), home had always been associated with pain, with shouting matches and forgotten birthdays, trips to the emergency room and wondering (hoping) if this would finally be the last, if it would finally be over.

Bishop had never been her home. Not even on those rare good days when her mother would smile and laugh and kiss her on the cheek, hug her until she couldn’t breathe, insist they stay in PJ’s all day even though it was a weekday and Sam had school. And they would bake cakes and giggle later once the smoke had cleared and the charred lump had been thrown in the trash, and they sat and ate frosting right out of the bowl (the only part of the cake they never screwed up), watching lame daytime TV movies, the ones with a predictable happy ending that always set her mom off crying. Sam could never figure out why and never dwelt on it for long anyway. But Root… Root thought she knew where those tears came from; from the repetitiveness of their lives, the pessimism that pooled out of their pores. The hopelessness of knowing nothing would ever change, nothing could make a difference. Life was what it was.

_Do what you’re best at,_ Irene Groves always used to say and what she was best at was doing nothing, accepting the inevitable. But Sam (Root) had gotten out, had tore her way from the clutch of claws that were sharp and poisoned with the mundane life that was Bishop, Texas.

Through all the years since then, alone and uncaring, Root never even thought about home. Except for that one day a year when she would go to the nearest bookstore, pick up one particular book and send it to the address she had memorised long ago.

And then, inexplicably, home had found her. The Machine found her. And even though it took weeks, months, years (eternity) for her to prove herself, finally she did, finally she found a home, a family. Finally she found the place where she belonged.

Now, as she felt Sameen warm and alive in her hand, that sense of belonging was stronger than ever. Because hadn't Sameen followed her here, refused to leave even when Root had tried to push her away? And when the shit hit the fan, hadn't Reese and Fusco jumped on a plane to come help them without even questioning it? This family - _her_ family - so unlikely, so broken and hurt and yet, when it came down to it, there for each other no matter what. And Root was a part of that. _Sameen_ was a part of that, yet when Root looked into her eyes, when she sensed what was swirling beneath the surface left unsaid, she knew what was coming. Of course she knew. Because she knew _Sameen._

Life was never going to be that easy. Never going to be fair.

But for a moment ( _just a moment, please_ ), Root held onto that hope of home, that dream of domesticity that was peaceful and whole. She didn’t want to think about what would happen next, couldn’t even find it within herself to get angry, to wrap all that pain in a ball of rage and target it towards the person who had caused it all. She couldn’t, because she understood. Because she’d had to make a choice once too, a choice that had broken her heart, but a choice she had made all the same because home would never be safe, never be at peace, not with her ghosts still out there, free to roam.

Root had dealt with loss before, with the pain of being left behind, a pain so much worse that the bullet hole in her leg. Back then, the pain had seemed like  a mountain she would never be able to overcome and she didn’t think it would be any easier this time.

“Gen will be glad to see you awake,” said Root, trying - just for a few moments - to keep things normal, to hold onto that routine, that passiveness and gentleness that had become their lives here in Texas.

“Root-”

“I think she’s tiring of Lionel’s company and he’s-”

“I’m not going back with you,” Shaw interrupted.

Root knew it was coming, but it was still a blow; harder than a punch to the stomach, more like a truck hitting her head on. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think and she longed for that elusive anger that wouldn’t come.

“I know,” said Root.

She remembered the bar fight Shaw had gotten into, could recall vividly just how _lost_ Sameen had looked, squinting in the sudden brightness of the living room, swaying drunkenly with a lamp lying shattered at her feet. _Why won’t you ask me what’s going on?_ But Root didn’t need to ask, didn’t need Sameen or anyone else to tell her just how hard and tight the past could hold on.

“It’s because of the crash, isn’t it?” said Root, remembering the fear tightening her chest in the middle of the night, remembering how she had yawned and blinked at the Sheriff’s deputy who had come to ask for “Doctor Sameen Gray” and beg for her help. Root had gone back to bed, not expecting Sameen to be gone the whole night. And even when Root drove all the way out to Corpus Christi to pick Shaw up, even then Root hadn’t realised the significance of that night. Not until Shaw’s mood became more sullen, as she withdrew further and deeper into herself. Then a morning, a few days later, when Root had shown up early to work (both a first and last for her), bored and brewing coffee in the staff lounge, she had picked up an old newspaper and read a story that was familiar, way too similar to one the Machine had told her long ago.

“Because of what happened to your father?” Root continued tentatively. And when Shaw stiffened, glanced away with surprise and anger in her eyes, Root knew she was right.

Turned out Root wasn’t the only one who had found ghosts from the past here in Texas.

And she understood fully then, why Sameen had to stay, why she couldn’t go back to New York and move on with her life. Not yet. Sameen was too lost in the past, drowning in it like a great ship lost at sea and sinking, sinking, sinking. Not even Root could anchor her to the present. She felt the failure of it overwhelm her, much like she had felt in the days, weeks after Hanna had gone missing; almost as powerful as the failure that swallowed her when Daizo died in her arms, when she realised how stupid she had been not to see Jason’s betrayal before it was too late.

So easily she could have turned that guilt into anger now, like she had turned her guilt into a vendetta against Trent and Barbara Russell, into a hunt for Jason to bring him down before he could hurt anyone else. But she couldn’t now. Wouldn’t let the anger lash out at Sameen just so she could feel some of the pain Root felt. They had come too far for that.

So she let the guilt go and, with it, any anger that may have lingered beneath the surface, watching and waiting to surprise them both. Left behind was a sadness that had become too familiar, almost comforting in its regularity. She knew nothing else but this sadness anymore.

“Sameen… I can’t stay here.” The words stuck in her throat, came out cold and bitter like a mug of old tea that had been sitting around for too long. And she couldn’t look at Shaw when she said them, didn’t want to see the anger she should have been feeling reflected in Shaw’s eyes. And she most definitely did not want to see a plea on Shaw’s face, hear an impossible question that Root would never be able to say no too, not when it was _Sameen_ asking her.

_Ask me to stay_ , Root thought anyway, begged in her head because she couldn't say it aloud. It felt like her heart would break in two. It surprised her, just how much the pain swelled in her chest like an engulfing tide and yet she knew it was inevitable too.

“Yeah, I know,” Shaw muttered. A slight nod, a rough clearing of her throat. She knew Root just as well as Root knew her, knew how Bishop was slowly and surely killing her each day she remained here. “But where does that leave us?”

Root couldn’t answer that, didn’t want to. She wanted to run out of the room, out of the hospital, to the hotel Reese and Fusco had been staying at and sleep for a good thousand years. She almost did it too, almost ran away again. Could feel the muscles in her legs tense, getting ready to move so fast, faster than she had ever moved before. Perhaps Shaw could sense it, for she suddenly pulled her wrist away so she could clasp her hand tightly with Root’s.

So tight. So unwilling to let go. Shaw telling her she didn’t want this to be over just as much as Root didn’t.

“Well…” Root dragged out the word so long and so annoyingly that Shaw narrowed her eyes. They softened a little when Root lifted their hands up so she could press her lips to the tips of Shaw’s fingers; a light, abstracted gesture that took Shaw by surprise as she stared at their hands, stared at Root long and hard, so intensely that Root thought she could see a spark of hope in those eyes. “We’ve faced worse than 2000 miles,” said Root, thinking of Samaritan, of Greer and Jason.

Shaw remained quiet, staring but not seeing and she reminded Root so vividly of the Machine then that she knew Sameen was calculating all the possibilities, all the outcomes of her decision to stay and watch Root and Gen go back to New York without her. Root wondered what she was seeing, wondered what paths their lives would take in the weeks to come. And it wasn’t about Shaw; she realised and knew instinctively that if she asked, if she begged, Shaw would give in and come with her. This decision to stay, it wasn’t just for herself, wasn’t a means to fight her own ghosts on her own. (At no time in her life had Sameen Shaw _ever_ let someone fight her battles for her. And she wasn’t about to start now). But it was also Shaw’s way of doing what was best for Root, best for Gen.

It was those paths that frightened Root. So many and yet so few and she didn’t want to walk any of them without Sameen by her side, didn’t want someone else, another Angie, either. There was no path, no life, for Root without Shaw.

Root squeezed Shaw’s hand, tight and unwilling to let go. “I can wait.”

She would wait a lifetime, an eternity. And how hard could it be? Once, Shaw had waited for her; one long, lonely year filled with anger and pain and at the end of it, Shaw had come out of it relatively unscathed, even if Root hadn’t. So Root could do it too, she decided, and it would be different this time. Because they both understood, they both knew why this had to be and why Shaw could only do it alone. So Root would wait.

She tried not to think about a path where she wasn’t there when Sameen finally came back.

*

They stayed in Texas only three more days. On the third day, Reese drove Root and Gen back to Bishop and, silently, they packed up their things. For Gen, that involved most of the contents of her room and two boxes that would have to be left behind to be shipped out later. Root only had some clothes, her laptop. There wasn’t much else from Bishop that she wanted to keep.

She was folding the last of her clothes, bundling them carelessly into a suitcase when she spotted the book on the nightstand. With a pang of regret, she remembered she still hadn’t finished it. She picked it up and although it wasn’t a particularly large book, it still felt heavy in her hand as if, somehow, all the years of her life had been absorbed into its pages. Each word, each _letter_ , revealing a dark secret from her past; secrets that even Root had forgotten.

With a certainty that had too many similarities to the cold tendrils of fear that could wrap around a person’s heart, Root knew that she wouldn’t be able to take the book back with her to New York. In her mind, in her heart, the book she had been putting off reading for years, that she had been taking months to finish, had become something much more than words on a page. Somehow, it had come to represent Bishop. It had become _her_ and she knew that even though she couldn’t take it with her - not if she wanted to let Bishop, let all of it, go once and for all - neither could she leave it unfinished.

Root opened the book, letting the pages flutter naturally to where her bookmark had separated them since the last time she had opened it. She was surprised to find she only had a few pages left and, without thinking about it, she sat on the edge of the bed and began to read.

Never before had she been so immersed in the words before her. So much so that she forgot where she was, forgot _who_ she was.

When she was finished, she wasn’t surprised to find tears on her cheeks. But the smile on her lips was unexpected, almost shy in its smallness, but so very real. She was finished. It was over.

Suddenly, the invisible bonds that had been holding her here, trapping her here like a prisoner, let go entirely. And she languished once again in the relief she had felt on the night Volkov had pointed a gun at her, when she realised she no longer had it in her to kill. Now, like then, a part of her seemed to fall into place and she felt sure of herself, felt like she knew who she was, what she could be and that whatever she _had_ been, didn’t get a say in the matter.

“Root?”

She blinked and her surroundings came back into focus, bringing with it meaning and memory. There was a lot of memories in Bishop; but this room, this house, it was all Shaw.

_I’m not going with you._

Three days and Sameen hadn’t changed her mind, just like Root had known she wouldn’t.

“John says we gotta go.” Gen stood tentatively in the doorway, teeth nibbling at her bottom lip. This room had always been sacred to her, off limits, only ever venturing over the threshold if Root or Shaw invited her.

“You all packed?” Root asked, still holding _Flowers for Algernon_ in her hands. She raised a skeptical eyebrow when Gen nodded reluctantly. Nobody hated Bishop as much as Root did and yet Gen had been more excited than any of them to go back to New York, to visit the library, see Finch and Zoe and Daniel, take Bear for a long walk in the park. All that giddy, childlike excitement disappeared in a flash when she found out Shaw wasn’t coming with them. Gen couldn’t understand why she was staying, even _if_ Shaw had been willing to explain herself. All Gen could understand, all she could see, was another person leaving her behind.

So it had been with a sullen shuffle that Gen had spent the last three days reluctantly going back and forth between their hotel in the city and the hospital to visit Shaw. And with the excitement of home gone, she had nothing to focus on other than what had happened (or almost happened) on that airport runway.

Root was worried and part of her was still hoping that it would all be magically fixed once they were back in New York. And she held onto that hope because it was the only thing holding her together, allowing her limbs to move so she could pack, walk on a plane. So that she could say goodbye to Shaw and remember it wasn’t forever (not yet, _not yet_ ).

“I’ve just got those boxes left,” said Gen. “I couldn’t find any tape.”

“It’s okay,” said Root. “Shaw can take care of it.”

Gen’s face clouded over with darkness like the beginning of a storm. “Why can’t you make her come with us?”

Root smiled, but it was without heart. “Since when could anybody make Sameen Shaw do anything?”

“You could,” said Gen bitterly. “You just _won’t._ ”

Heavy thuds as Gen stomped off to her room. Root listened until they finally trailed off, realising Shaw wasn’t the only person Gen was mad at. There was a lot of anger in Gen these days to go around. Even before Volkov had finally found them. Root embraced it with a sigh, remembering the hope that somehow going home would fix everything. She stared at the open book in her hands, wondering if those final pages of acknowledgements and _other titles you should read_ held secret words of wisdom that would tell her how to make this all go away, make it better and feel right and good and hopeful like that summer before Jason changed everything.

With a small thud, Root shut the book. She stared at the cover for a moment, thinking. But each thought in her head seemed to get swept up and away as if by a tornado and she could make sense of nothing.

It was time, however. Time to leave this place behind.

Time to go home.

*

There was no one to pick up Shaw on the day they finally discharged her from the hospital. No one to drive her home, no one to smile and cheer as she signed the discharge papers and got into the elevator. Just the nurses, the orderlies. She hadn’t seen her doctor since the last brief check up that morning. And if there had been smiles on the hospital staff’s faces, it was only because they were glad to finally see the back of her.

Shaw had been in a bad mood since waking up after her near fatal gunshot wound and it had only grown fouler the moment after Root and Gen had said goodbye, leaving with Reese and Fusco to go catch a plane back to New York.

The boys… they didn’t get it. She could see the befuddlement in their eyes and she knew they thought this was temporary, that she would show up in New York in a few days from now, slinking back into their lives from the shadows. Gen didn’t get it either, but instead of confusion she was angry and she wasn’t afraid to show it.

The only person that seemed okay with it was Root. She acted with a cool aloofness that both irritated and confused Shaw. It would have been easier, she thought, to say goodbye, to stay, if Root had gotten mad, if she had demanded to know _why_ and pointed out all the reasons why Shaw was being a stubborn idiot. And even when Root kissed her goodbye, lips soft and lingering on hers, Shaw sensed a tug of hesitation, that jolt like she was about to make a mistake far more severe than walking out into a busy road without looking both ways. But stubbornness made her ignore the tug, idiocy made her believe she was doing the right thing and that, eventually, everything would be alright.

It wasn’t until she got off the bus in the centre of Bishop, skin clammy and her clothes sticking to her with sweat from the stifling, oven like atmosphere that had been the 895 Greyhound Express from Corpus Christi, that Shaw began to have doubts. And when she finally let herself into the house they had shared for the past four months, she found it empty and quiet. Root and Gen were gone, nowhere to be found and yet they seemed to linger everywhere. Instead of the space, the peacefulness she was expecting to allow her to think, to _be_ , the house just felt confined, like a tight little box with impenetrable walls and no way out.

Shaw closed her eyes. She could hear the sounds of Bishop; people living their lives, maybe not with pride and possibly not even satisfaction, but they were living them all the same.

And Shaw… Shaw was here, stuck and alone in the sinkhole that was Bishop, Texas. And she was also 2000 miles away, with Root and with Gen. That place where she belonged. The only thing that kept her from suffocating in the sinkhole.

She had never felt further away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be mad. I know it looks like they are taking a step backwards here, but there's a reason Shaw is staying behind and she won't be staying in Bishop for long.
> 
> Also, this is the last chapter of part 3. We're nearing the end :O


	51. Part 4: Chapter 51

She was late and Sameen Shaw muttered a curse under her breath as she hastily ushered her last patient of the day out the door.

Alone, and with nothing else to do in Bishop, Shaw had reluctantly gone back to her job at the Bishop clinic. In any other town, she would have been fired on the spot for so many unexplained absences; but Doctor Madison just seemed relieved to have her back, slapped a pile of paperwork into her hands and disappeared into his office. It didn’t take Shaw long to get back into the swing of things and even though most of her patients got on her nerves, she liked the day to day mundaneness of her life. She was Doctor Sameen Gray, not Shaw, and no one expected anything else from her.

So she got used to the routine of her life. Wake up (alone), go for a run (alone), go to work and interact with as few people as possible, go home, have dinner, once again, alone. It was the same everyday and had been for the past two weeks, ever since Root and Gen had left and she had chosen to stay behind.

Her choice. Her own dumb choice.

Everyday, at roughly 5pm when she stumbled home from work and the phone rang in that empty, lonely house in Bishop, at that time each day Shaw was reminded of her stupid choice, of what she had given up. And when Root said “Hey” in a voice that sounded lost and far away and somehow not there at all, she remembered the reasons  _ why _ she had made that choice.

Maybe they were dumb, a misguided attempt at some form of obscene nobility; but Shaw knew if she was there now, if she was with Root and Gen in New York, she would only be there by proximity. Part of her would be somewhere else, long gone and far away and she knew, with a coldness that made her want to shiver despite the heat of summer in Texas, she knew it was unlikely that that part of her would be able to come back.

That absence - it would chip away at them. Root would eventually display the anger Shaw had been expecting since she had first blurted out her intention of staying behind; and Gen… Gen was already angry. How much worse off would she be if Shaw hadn’t made her choice? She didn’t know, didn’t want to know because her resolve was so thin, so weak and if anyone could break through her stubbornness it was Gen; Gen who had lost her grandfather, her mother; Gen who had grown close to Daizo only for him to die at the hands of someone she had once trusted; Gen who had to watch the people she cared about, the people who were supposed to love and protect her, she had to watch them time and time again as they walked out on her.

But Shaw staying in Bishop… was it any different?

Shaw thought so. She thought it would hurt less, be easier. She thought - she  _ believed _ \- it was the right thing to do and when Root didn’t get angry, didn’t fight her, she knew she was right. Had to believe that she was right.

On the day Shaw was running late, a fuck up by Judy, the clinic’s receptionist, had resulted in Doctor Gray being double booked all day and it was too late notice, Doctor Madison had said, to abruptly cancel on them. So Shaw, bitterly and resentfully, had skipped lunch and her breaks to fit them all in, quickly rushing through her most routine appointments.

But it was always that last one, wasn’t it? The last one that ruined plans for an early escape. Mrs Gibbs, grandmother of Derek Gibbs, who had told her all about how Shaw’s “friend” Miss Root had abruptly stopped coming to work one day and left town with that cute kid of hers. Was it true? Mrs Gibbs had asked and seemed to take a yes from Sameen’s glowering silence as she stuffed the buds of her stethoscope into her ears and checked on Mrs Gibbs’ heart, effectively shutting out whatever tripe came next out of her mouth. But Shaw’s silence had never deterred Mrs Gibbs before and wasn’t about to start now.

By the time Shaw had finished her check-up, wrote out a new prescription and finally got the chattering Mrs Gibbs out the door, she was in a bad mood; grumpy and likely to take it out on whoever was most convenient. After three months of working with her, both Judy and Madison knew how to spot her moods and quickly they had learned to make themselves busy, invisible, whenever Doctor Gray was in one of her bad ones. Even the nurse who worked with them part time three times a week had learned when to give Shaw a wide berth.

So it was with a scowl on her face that Shaw left the clinic, knowing her look was dark enough to deter even the most persistent of people. She barely remembered to glance at the clock behind Judy’s desk; hands never ceasing to tick each second, minute, hour, by until time seemed to become meaningless in that place, until each day was indistinguishable from the last and Shaw could barely remember the day, the month, how long she had been there, been in Bishop, been on her own.

“Fuck,” Shaw muttered as she banged her elbow trying to hastily get into her car. The unexpected pain shot up her arm to her still healing shoulder, down to her wrist and hand where she held the keys so tight the metal bit into the palm of her hand.

She felt a flare of anger, mingled perhaps with a little bit of disappointment. Disappointment that sat hot and heavy in her gut, fighting for a place amongst the hard, heavy pull that was everything that had happened lately. Root, Volkov, the memories of her last moments with her father - she had wrapped it all in a ball so tight, so powerful, that it came with its own source of gravity and every thought, everything that happened or didn't happen, every vague and fleeting feeling she couldn’t and didn’t want to interpret; all of it got sucked in, all of it lingered and she hated it because not so long ago she could push it aside, wipe it away like it was a drop of water on her skin. But now it sat inside of her, now it stayed and each day that blurred into the next, it seemed to get bigger and heavier, this ball of dumb, stupid mistakes she had made, the choices she had to live with and the low but persistent sense of  _ feeling _ she was allowing herself to become used to.

It was a sense of being more aware of herself; that inner part of her that was Sameen,  bâbâ’s little girl who still had so much to learn from her father but never would, not anymore. But the awareness was too much and even in the quiet, small town of Bishop, it felt too big. It was beyond her, this awareness, and yet she could not escape it. It was part of her; it always had been and always would be.

The anger and disappointment from being late, from potentially missing Root’s phone call, made the short drive from the clinic to home seem longer. Shaw barely paid any attention to her surroundings, driving automatically on muscle memory from making the same trip every day. Her head was too full, too loud with the noise of thoughts that would not go away.

She would have to be the one to call, to explain why she hadn’t been on time; to sit with the phone pressed against her ear, listening to the ring, insistent and shrill and wondering if Root was ever going to answer, if she was there (if she was gone, if she had given up on Shaw after all and decided not to wait and so someone else answered, some other woman with a Texas drawl way too familiar for Shaw’s liking).

And perhaps it was that thought that made her hesitate. Because, wouldn’t she rather not know? Like she hadn’t known about Angie until showing up unannounced in Bishop with no idea what to do or say, wondering where the hell the whim to jump on a plane had come from.

Her hand lingered over the handset, found buried beneath sofa cushions where she had abandoned it after yesterday’s call. The thought entered her head:  _ pick up, dial; you know the number by heart. _ But the thought couldn’t seem to get through her synapses in her brain, travel along her nerves to her arm, tell it to move.

She didn’t want to call, and that was the truth of it. There was nothing to say. There hadn’t been since the day Root had left. Maybe that was why Root did all the calling, so Shaw wouldn’t have to. So she wouldn’t have to admit she needed these daily phone calls, needed to hear Root’s voice, hear the steady inhale and exhale of her breath and, then, closing her eyes: picturing Root as she had been long ago. Aloof, sure of herself and the world, sure of  _ her _ ; and that smirk that was just for Shaw. It was easy to picture that with Root 2000 miles away on the other end of the phone. When she tried to think of Root at any other time; during a lull at work, with each pounding footfall on the sidewalk as she ran, at night in the dark alone in bed and wondering if there had ever been someone beside her at all; during those times she could only see the Root that had come back from exile, the Root that had given up everything to stop Jason. The broken thing that looked like Root that had lingered here in Bishop like a ghost. Shaw didn’t like to think about that Root, but she couldn’t help it. Part of her would always remain with Root, the  _ real _ Root, the Root that had left her once again.

Shaw felt the tightness in her gut pull a little and knew she was being unfair. Root hadn’t left her. Shaw was the one that had stayed behind, the one that couldn't face what life in New York would mean. So she stayed in limbo, let Bishop drown her in its everyday sameness and lived each day for that phone call, the phone call she had missed today because Mrs Gibbs wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

She willed her arm to move, harder this time, and was surprised when the phone was suddenly in her hand, when her thumb was dialing the familiar number, as if her body was being controlled by someone else altogether and all Shaw could do was watch.

It wasn’t some buried deep inner courage that finally made her call. It was the thought that she had been late, that for the first time since Root had left she had missed one of her calls, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this miscall, her tardiness, meant something more than it appeared.

They were her tether to Root, these calls, a chain to the world she had come from, the one she had left behind. She felt that tether, thin and weak as it was, would break far too easily. One more misstep, one more mistake and it would snap right in two.

“Hey you,” said the familiar (comforting), far away voice on the other end of the line.

Shaw tried to work her mouth, wondering if she had any voice left after her chaotic, busy day. “How did you know it was me?”

She could hear the smile in Root’s voice in her next choice of words. Genuine, she thought. It was hard to fake that over the phone.

“Did you forget about my direct line to God?” said Root with light admonishment. Shaw didn’t rise to the bait, instead tried to picture Root’s smug smirk as her eyes sparkled with playful sarcasm.

Root spoke again and the image was gone. Shaw found herself staring out the window to the empty Bishop street. For a moment, she pretended she was the only one here, that the town had emptied inexplicably in the ridiculously long time it had taken her to pick up the phone.

That idea of pure aloneness, of isolation from the rest of the world, would have appealed to her once. Now Shaw had to look away from the window and her eerily faded reflection in the glass, swept her eyes around the living room for something to focus on. The couch, the TV, the box of Gen’s things she still hadn’t sent. The place felt empty, almost sad as if the walls and floors and things inside could feel what Shaw couldn’t. She wondered if Root could sense it, if she had known before she left how Bishop could turn in on itself, going from claustrophobic and stifling, to empty and cold.

“Busy day?” Root asked, making Shaw wonder if “God” really had been telling her things. But they never talked about the Machine, or the reasons why Root had to leave and Shaw had to stay behind. They never talked about anything real, anything that mattered.

“Yeah,” Shaw said. Her days were usually always busy and she preferred it that way. “You?”

“Mmm, much the same,” said Root and casually added; “although I did get a promotion.”

“What?” said Shaw, confused. It took her a moment to remember how easily Root had slipped back into the life she had abruptly left behind in New York. A life Shaw wasn’t sure she really wanted or, if like Shaw, with her job as Bishop’s mysterious and elusive doctor, she had gone back to it just so she had something to do, so she could forget all that had happened.

“Harold decided to take some vacation leave. Or early retirement… I’m not sure which. I guess it depends what happens next.”

“What does that mean?” asked Shaw.

“It means he bought a plane ticket to Italy.”

When Root said nothing more, just left off with a silence that had Shaw feeling like she was missing something she shouldn’t be, Shaw frowned.

What the hell was in Italy? The Machine in physical form? A bank of servers that looked indistinguishable from the maze that had been Samaritan? But that didn’t seem right to Shaw. Harold had always had a complicated relationship with his creation. And, as time went on, as the Machine evolved, became something more, something unrestrained and conniving, he seemed to grow ever more wary of it. So maybe he was finally abandoning his creation, his child that had grown and found its own way in the world. Short of destroying it all together, what else could he do to contain it now?

Nothing, Shaw thought and remembered the conversations she’d had with the Machine using Finch’s voice, how eerie that had been, how life like.

“He moving for the culture?” Shaw asked. “Good food, decent wine. Lot of art…”

_ Art. _

And she remembered then, the woman with the red hair, the woman who had been so important to Harold Finch that Samaritan and Greer had tracked her down. She had been fearless, Shaw remembered. Confused and afraid and brave all at once. Shaw could get why Finch had fallen for her and she understood far too intimately why he had left her behind, why he had hidden part of himself, then his whole self, so that he could protect her, save her from the new world he had created.

It was all very noble and stupid.

“Grace,” said Shaw and when the name left her lips it felt familiar, right. It was only vaguely that she remembered bundling the woman into a taxi, as she and Reese informed her of her new life in Italy whether she liked it or not. She had gone willingly in the end, without answers. Perhaps for Harold. Or the memory she had of him anyway.

“The very one,” said Root. “Maybe Harold’s going to get his fairytale ending.”

Shaw resisted the urge to snort and only because there had been something in Root’s tone; a wistful enthusiasm that couldn’t quite mask the sadness underneath. Alone, in her empty house in Bishop, Texas, it was easy for Shaw to believe the sadness was because Finch was gone, unlikely to come back if things went well for him. Root would be losing a friend, a mentor (a reluctant, unforgiving mentor) and despite their complicated relationship over the years; from kidnap and torture to unlikely allies, grudging respect, disapprovement, friendship; Harold had meant something to her. This man who had created her God, he had brought them all together, made this family of misfits and killers feel like they belonged, that they were doing something that mattered.

Finch was gone and suddenly that old life, that purpose in New York chasing irrelevant numbers, it broke in front of Shaw, shattering to pieces like glass from a broken mirror. And as each shard fell, she saw herself reflected in them, saw Root, as they had been back then, as they would never be again.

“I have no idea what he’s going to say to her,” Root went on, her voice close and quiet like she too had come to the same thought as Shaw. “But it’s a long flight. He’s got time to work it out.”

But, Shaw thought, there was only one thing Finch could say when he finally came face to face with Grace again after all these years. She believed Finch knew it too, knew that nothing but the truth could escape his lips, make her understand, believe in him once again, love him like she had all these years.

Suddenly, Shaw didn’t want to talk about Finch anymore, didn’t want to think about his fairytale happy ending.

“How’s Gen?” she asked.

There was silence too long to be entirely natural before Root spoke.

“She’s okay.”

Okay didn’t mean much when you were 2000 miles away and Shaw could only think about how Gen had been that last day in Texas, when she was marched into Shaw’s hospital room to say goodbye before their flight back to New York. She had been quiet, which wasn’t unusual for Gen these days; but it was the underlying anger that Shaw - and everyone else, she was sure - noticed. It seemed to fill the room, claw at Shaw’s skin like it wanted to make her bleed. And it wasn’t until that moment that Shaw realised she hadn’t really seen or spoken to Gen since the airfield, when she took Shaw’s gun and disappeared. Root had been vague on the details of what had transpired out there, but there was only one reason why Gen would have took the gun, went after her father with it held heavily in her hand.

She had still looked like the same old Gen in that stale and sterile hospital room; a little angry, perhaps a little older looking. But she didn’t have that hollowed out look of someone who had killed for the first time. Gen was still a kid and in many ways so innocent, and Shaw knew she didn’t have the heart of a killer.

Not like she did. Not like Root.

“It’s… hard,” Root finally added when Shaw had been silent too long. “She misses you.”  _ I miss you _ : unspoken, but so very loud and heard all the same.

Shaw closed her eyes briefly and she could see that hospital room again, could see the impatient looks Root kept throwing at Gen while trying to hide them from Shaw. Because Shaw was the one that was injured, because she was the one staying behind, Root had thought Gen should have been the one to make the effort. Too late, Shaw realised it should have been her, that the surly response of “whatever” she had received when she told them to have a safe flight was well deserved.

“It’ll get better,” said Shaw, unsure if she was talking about Gen or the sadness she could hear in Root’s voice. Maybe she was talking to herself and her decision to stay in Bishop, that the reasons would become clearer to them all, and that Shaw would be able to forget, accept what had happened, accept herself and who she was now. And maybe, finally, then she would be able to go home.

Another silence followed, just like it always did every time Root called and they rushed through the niceties, the updates on their lives, even though Shaw’s always stayed much the same. Shaw searched her brain for something to say, not wanting the call to end. This was her only connection with Root, with Gen and that past life in New York. With each day that passed, that connection only grew shorter and Shaw couldn’t be sure how much of it was left before it would run out all together.

“So,” said Shaw. “Tell me about this promotion.”

She could almost hear the sigh of relief from Root and smiled; maybe Root didn’t want to hang up either, maybe she needed this connection just as much as Shaw did.

“Well, I’m basically doing Harold’s job now. It’s weird being a boss.”

Shaw didn’t think it was weird at all and thought Root would be good at being boss of the nerds. She was glad that Finch had trusted Root with this, that he had finally let go of whatever animosity had lingered between him and Root.

Leaning back into the couch cushions with her feet on the coffee table, Shaw listened as Root babbled on about her work. There wasn’t much of it Shaw understood, but she could hear the excitement in Root’s voice. It never once occurred to her that the excitement was fake, that what she thought was enthusiasm over doing something she cared about was actually just relief, a misplaced euphoria now that Root was no longer in Bishop, now that she was free from the prison of her past.

“...And it took some persuading, but I finally managed to get Daniel to agree to work with me. He’s doing better, by the way.”

“That’s good.” Shaw bit her lip, wondering if she should feel guilty for not having spoken to Daniel since that cold day in the park back in March, when he had convinced her that if she wanted Root back, then there was only one place she should be.

And, now, here they were, apart again.

That had been Shaw’s choice and she had worked with Daniel long enough, knew him so well that she could easily imagine what he would say to her right now. Something along the lines of  _ stubborn idiot _ and a defiant look to go with it when Shaw tried to glare him into shutting up and minding his own business.

“I’ve been reworking the staff a little,” said Root. “Harold had good people working on the project, but the weren’t  _ my  _ people, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” Shaw agreed, stifling a yawn as her busy day began to catch up with her.

“Which reminds me,” said Root, a little tentatively. “I have a favour to ask.”

*

The next day, Shaw found herself in the south side of Bishop, where the houses grew smaller and the desert got bigger, swallowing up the dry grass until there was nothing left but dust and dirt. No sidewalks and all the roads pitted with holes and cracks.

Shaw glanced at the hastily scrawled address she had written on the back of an old takeout menu before looking across the street. Number 13 - she was at the right place.

The exterior of the house conveyed the unluckiness that the number implied. It was two stories tall, but even from across the street Shaw could see the wear and tear that had accumulated over the years: missing and broken roof tiles, a smashed and boarded up window at the side of the house that had never been fixed. The wooden panelling that lined the house was full of rot, the pale green paint faded and peeling in so many places that there was barely any colour left, just the exposed wood underneath. The front lawn was mostly dirt, with a few overgrown weeds that tangled together and clung to the foundations of the house; as if the house, the weeds and the lawn were all a part of the same entity. Shaw spotted a kid’s bike abandoned in the brush. With its framework rusted and tires flat, Shaw thought it must have been there for a number of years, left forgotten.

This wasn't a street Shaw had ever been to during her time in Bishop. There was only a few scattered houses. Like number 13, they were in similar disrepair. But that was Bishop in a nutshell, Shaw thought and wondered, as she did most of the time now, why the hell she was still here.

With a breath, Shaw crossed the street, figuring there was no point hanging around outside for the whole town to see, only to add further fuel to the flames of gossip that had sprouted in the wake of Root and Gen’s departure.

Just the other day, Shaw had overheard two old women in the grocery store. She had been minding her own business, replenishing her dwindling supply of six-packs, when the words “that ethnic doctor” reached her ears. With an eye roll, Shaw had paused to listen, knowing they couldn’t possibly be referring to anyone else but her. Never had Shaw really cared what other people thought about her, but it had been a long time since she had settled in one place for so long. And even if she hadn’t been tricked by the Machine into dusting off her stethoscope, Bishop had a way of sucking you into the belly of it. It was impossible to remain anonymous here and Shaw stood out, shacked up as she was with Root. And her glowering personality didn’t exactly help either.

“I hear the…  _ lesbian, _ ” one of the old woman had whispered, like she was afraid if she spoke the word too loud God would smite her down right there in the cereal aisle. “You know, Irene Groves’ daughter? I heard she just took off one day. Packed up her things and left and took that brat of hers with her.”

Anger had pulsed through Shaw, potent and raw and mostly fueled by her own confusion, her own doubts as to why she had stayed. She could remember dumping the beer on the nearest shelf so hard the bottles rattled together; their clinking so loud she was surprised when all six bottles survived intact. She was ready to rush into the next aisle, confront the two gossiping old ladies and make them regret every word they had just said with one cold hard look. But as she stared at shelves filled with potato chips and candy and everything else that could rot your teeth and stomach in equal measures, Shaw knew there was little point in starting a confrontation. It wouldn’t stop the gossiping. Hell, it would probably just add a new colour to the story that had them sharing it with their friends with new enthusiasm.

Shaw was all too aware of what resulted from confronting people in this town. Cody Grayson had proved that to her with almost deadly consequences.

And when the initial flash of anger quickly subsided, Shaw found she just didn’t  _ care. _ They were talking about Sameen Gray, not her; Sam Groves and not Root. Whatever they said and spread about town hardly mattered.

However, from that day on, Shaw found herself taking the sixteen mile trip over to Robstown to buy her groceries. The only time the residents of Bishop ever saw her outside her house was if they came into the clinic.

Until now, anyway.

_ Better get this over with _ , Shaw thought and with no particular enthusiasm, crossed the street and knocked on the door of number 13.

She was only here because of Root, because she had promised. With the miles between them, with the unspoken question hidden in every phone call ( _ please come back, Shaw; why won’t you come home? _ ), this simple task seemed the least she could do. And she couldn’t fail, she realised; couldn’t leave here without getting what she came for. If the answer was no, then Shaw would have failed. Failed Root.  _ Again _ . And Shaw refused to let that happen.

The door finally opened after Shaw’s third knock, revealing a woman with bleached blonde hair that didn’t quite cover up the greying at her temples. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her wrinkled mouth and Shaw found her eyes drawn to it, watching the thread of ash grow longer, the woman seemingly unconcerned when gravity finally won out and the ash fell like snow down the front of her sweat stained t-shirt.

“Whatever y’all selling, I ain’t buyin’,” the woman announced with a scowl.

The Texas twang of her accent was shrill to Shaw; it grated on her nerves as she tried not to cringe with each exaggerated vowel. It didn’t have the playful quality to it that Root’s had and it occurred to her now that it was an accent she had never liked, not since she was six and her father was stationed at Fort Hood and the drawling southern accents were difficult for her to understand. But Root, with most of the Texan out of her voice, unless she was excited or particularly stressed about something, had given Shaw a better appreciation for it.

“I’m looking for Claire,” Shaw informed the woman, assuming this was the kid’s mother and deciding she liked her less and less with each passing second.

The woman eyed her cautiously, took a deep drag of her cigarette and flicked the butt over Shaw’s shoulder where it landed somewhere behind her, left to smolder out on the ground.

“You a cop?”

“No,” said Shaw, frowning as the woman reached into her back pocket, pulled out a pack and lit up a fresh cigarette. “I’m not a cop.” But if Root was right about this kid, then it would only be a matter of time before the cops - or more likely the FBI - came knocking at her door.

The chain smoking woman eyed Shaw one last time before turning and yelling in the direction of the stairs behind her. “Claire! Someone here to see you.”

Great hacking coughs followed this exclamation. The woman pressed the forearm of the hand still holding the cigarette over her mouth but it did nothing to muffle the sound. Even as she disappeared through a door on the right, shutting it firmly behind her with a bang, Shaw could still hear the rattling of her coughs, loud and harsh. The kind of unhealthy cough that had to hurt.

There was a clatter of footsteps above; Shaw glanced up towards the stairs, still hovering awkwardly in the front doorway, inhaling the lingering scent of too many cheap cigarettes. A teenager, no more than a few years older than Gen, descended down the stairs. Scrawny with dark hair, a sharp contrast to her mother’s bleached attempt, and dressed in fading jeans, a t-shirt with the phrase OSWALD WASN’T ALONE in bold type on the front.

“Aren’t you that doctor?” the girl asked when she finally reached the bottom stair. There wasn’t much of the Texan accent in her voice and Shaw vaguely remembered Root mentioning the kid and her mother had moved to Bishop a couple of years ago after the death of her father.

Claire stood facing Shaw, eyeing her carefully, a knowing gleam in her eyes that made Shaw instantly wary. “If you even are a doctor,” she added with a mutter.

Shaw scowled at that. There was the unsettling sensation that this kid knew far more about “Doctor Sameen Gray” than she should. She stared back, unsurprised when her intimidating glare seemed to have almost no effect. A moment later, and she remembered why she was here. Root had asked her to do something - and Root  _ never _ asked her for anything - and Shaw couldn’t let her down. Not with this seemingly simple task, not when she was failing so badly at everything else.

Choosing to ignore the smug air of curiosity surrounding the kid, Shaw wiped the smirk off her face by revealing some information she knew about  _ her. _

“The Pentagon hack last year,” said Shaw and as soon as the words left her mouth, the kid’s face paled. Panic filled her eyes as she quickly darted a look at the door her mother was behind. But Shaw could hear the sound of the TV blaring; angry shouting and an audience booing, and she knew that all the mother’s attention was on the drama unfolding on the screen in front of her. “The whole network shut down for 24 hours. Started quite the government panic. Then there was the Wall Street attack back in March. That was some virus, making millions of dollars disappear like that.”

The money had never been recovered, the cause of the breach never solved. Shaw glanced at the disrepair of the surroundings and wondered what had happened to all that money, wondered if it was safe in some offshore account waiting for a rainy day. Considering the dump the kid lived in, this shithole town, she could get out of here anytime she wanted. So why didn’t she?

Over the sounds of the blaring TV, Shaw heard more of the chest rattling coughs and thought she had her answer. The chain smoking mother hadn’t shown much love for her kid; in fact, when she asked Shaw if she was a cop, there had been an eager look on her face, like she couldn’t wait to see her kid dragged off in handcuffs. If she knew the extent of her daughter's extracurricular activities, Shaw had no doubt she would turn in her own kid just for the reward money, for the opportunity to sell her sob story to the first worthless rag that approached her.

But just because the mom didn’t give a shit, didn’t mean her daughter felt the same. Her mother was the reason why she was still here, still chained to this town. Why she had toned down her hacking in recent months to just messing around with her high school’s system, toying with Root and being played right back.

There was another hacking cough, the sound of someone snorting up their guts and Claire cringed even after it had passed. There was a look in her eyes too; obvious concern because there was no way those coughs were recent, nor could they be explained away as chest flu or some other bug. But Shaw thought she could sense a sadness too. There was no hope in those eyes.

So the mother was sick. Even without her medical degree, that much was obvious. Shaw thought back to all her time in Bishop, working at the clinic. She remembered the names and faces of all her patients. Neither Claire nor her mother had been one of hers; but now that Shaw thought about it, their faces were familiar and not just because this was a small town and people ran into each other all the time, regardless of whether or not they were trying to avoid them. 

The chain smoking mother was Doctor Madison’s patient.

Automatically, her diagnostic brain went through a list of possible causes for her symptoms, from the easily treatable to the most severe. If she had to bet on it, Shaw would put odds on the worst case scenario. Because it had to be bad. Bad enough to keep the kidding sticking around this hellhole of a town when she could so easily escape.

“What do you want?” Claire finally asked. She was still watching Shaw warily, but it looked like she had decided there was no point in denying anything. Her tone was laced with confidence, but her widened eyes and stiff shoulders revealed her unease. She had been caught and that was clearly something she never thought would happen.

“My… friend has a proposition for you,” said Shaw.

It didn’t sound as intriguing as she had meant it to. Instead it sounded salacious, like they should have been having this conversation in a dark alley somewhere.

“You know who I’m talking about.” Not a question. This kid and Root had been dancing around each other for months. And while Root had confessed it had taken her awhile to track the kid and figure her out, she had been sure Claire had worked out long ago that Root was a lot more than Bishop High’s ordinary tech specialist. She may not know  _ exactly _ what or who Root was, but she didn’t ask Shaw either, merely nodded and continued to stare at Shaw with dark brown eyes that seemed to lighten a little as she realised Shaw wasn’t about to turn her in.

“My friend is working on something that might suit your interests,” said Shaw, trying to remember word for word what Root had told her to say. “And she could probably teach you a hell of a lot more that Bishop High ever could. Basically… She’s offering you a job. You interested?”

Root hadn’t bothered to give Shaw the precise details of the job offer, like she thought Shaw would never be able - or bothered - to remember the nerdy details. She was probably right, but the kid looked like she didn’t need details anyway. As soon as Shaw’s words connected with her brain, like the long thought missing last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, her whole demeanor changed. To Shaw, she ended up looking more like a kid than ever; eager eyes, feet almost bouncing on the spot and a smile that was almost a frown because she was trying so hard to contain it.

In that moment, all Shaw could see in front of her was Gen. Gen as she had been before. Before her mother was killed, before Moscow and Bishop, before Root left.

A darkness clouded Shaw’s vision for a brief instant, almost like rain clouds had suddenly appeared in the sky to drop a storm down on them all. Root was lying when she said Gen was okay. But, over the phone, 2000 miles away, Shaw couldn’t prove it.

“I…” the girl began. “I don’t…” Her eyes darted once more to the door. The coughing had ceased for now, a moment of respite.

“They have good doctors in New York,” Shaw murmured. Eyes on the door, but she could feel Claire looking at her.

“New York?” The kid was quiet now, no more eagerness in her voice, no more excitement thrumming through her body; just a slouch of disappointment so bitter that Shaw could see the resemblance to her mother when she returned her gaze to Claire. “I can’t.”

Shaw would have left. She was tempted to. She had tried, she had delivered Root’s message. The kid had said no and that should have been the end of it.

_ Don’t take no for an answer. _

Shaw sighed. She had promised, after all.

“This job has benefits, health insurance,” said Shaw. Root hadn’t exactly mentioned that, but this company was one of Finch’s and he definitely had enough spare cash lying around to spring for a few medical bills. “Take your time to think about it.”

_ But not too long _ , Shaw thought. She really did not want to come back here again to negotiate for Root.

Reaching into her back pocket, Shaw pulled out a crumpled envelope and handed it to the kid. A letter from Root giving more details about her offer and two one-way tickets to New York. Shaw couldn’t help but think that one of them should be hers, that she shouldn’t be here anymore. Like Claire, her future lay in New York, not in the lonely town of Bishop, TX.

With trembling hands, Claire took the tickets from Shaw, staring at them with amazement and, Shaw was surprised to see, a glimmer of hope.

Before the kid could ask her anything more, Shaw turned and left, heading back towards the house in Bishop she had come to loathe.  It was up to the kid to decide now; Shaw had done her part. She could stay and watch her mother get sicker, watch as her future became narrower and more bleak. Or she could move to New York, start a new life and, hopefully, get her mother better healthcare, a better chance at making whatever was left of her miserable life just a little bit more comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The subplot with Root's hacker student was intended to mirror Root's childhood and adolescence, with Root giving Claire the opportunity to take a better path in life than the life Root initially led. I'm not sure how well I executed this and if I was going to edit RC as a whole I'd probably cut this subplot out all together as I'm not really sure it's needed. This chapter is really intended to tie up a loose end before the end of the story.
> 
> Thanks - Kes.


	52. Part 4: Chapter 52

Around 2am - or perhaps it was later, or earlier and Shaw supposed it didn’t really matter either way - a chill was creeping in along with the dark.

Shaw didn’t feel the cold. She could see the goosebumps scattering a trail up her bare arms and through her drunken haze it occurred to her that venturing back inside for a hoody or something would be a good idea right about now. Despite the hard decking she had sat down on a few hours ago now, when the sun was still up, and hadn't moved from since, Shaw had no desire to return to the dark and empty house behind her. She swallowed down the dregs of her beer, flat and warm now, and tossed the empty bottle across the lawn. It landed with a thump somewhere on the grass, the moonlight causing it to shimmer before it rolled away out of sight.

She hadn’t slept in three days and had no intention of doing so now. For if she closed her eyes, let the thoughts come and go and allowed that alluring dreamstate to capture her, she knew what she would see.

The crash. All over again.

Except she was never a kid in her dreams. Sometimes she was that antisocial aloof teenager with the attitude problem who still got good grades, surprising the majority of her teachers. The teachers who knew there was something not quite right about her; but if Sameen’s grades weren’t suffering then what was the point of pursuing it?

For the most part, in her dream, she was Sameen Shaw as she was now. Sameen Shaw: the failed medical resident. Sameen Shaw: the marine who fought back against her superiors when she knew they were making a bad call and people were going to die, good people. Sameen Shaw: who pissed off the ISA and had to fake her own death, with a little help from her new friends.

The returning theme of her life. Failure. Fuck up. And her dad knew it. In the dream, he _always_ knew.

The moment just before the car flipped, a screeching sound of metal crumbling, glass breaking, engine roaring; in that second he would turn to her, eyes filled with disappointment, mouth moving but no sound Sameen could hear coming out. Then the eyes would melt, like the bad special effects from some cheap 80s horror movie, only now not so nostalgic or funny. The flesh would burn from his bones. In her dream, she could feel the heat of it, almost reach out and touch the flames. She could smell it too, because _this_ Sameen Shaw was all too familiar with the scent of burning flesh.

When all that remained of her father was bones, brittle and black, scraps of tissue and muscle dangling impossibly intact, a reminder of what once was, a claw-like skeletal hand would reach out to her, grab her, take her with him, to wherever the bones of Mike Shaw were going.

And always, always she would wake to a scream. Her heart thumping in her chest, sweat soaking her skin, her clothes, the sheets.

She never could work out where the scream came from, who it belonged to. Yet it was familiar to her, of that she was sure.

Sameen jerked awake.

The muscles in her back spasmed and ached and the decking beneath her felt as hard and cold as ice. Unintentionally, she had dozed off, somewhere between finishing the last of her beer and the sun rising. She could sleep anywhere - a skill she had learned and utilized in both the marines and the ISA. Her body must have needed the sleep, even as she had resisted. It didn’t thank her for it, for the stream of abuse she had been unleashing on it for days. No sleep, too much beer, running until it felt like her legs would fall off, until she couldn’t breathe. When she stood up, just after the break of dawn, watching the sky lighten and listening to the birds in the neighbour’s garden chirp good morning at each other, she felt her back twinge violently, like someone had slithered a knife into her kidney all over again.

Not as young as she used to be. Too many injuries, too many years. Her body needed a soft bed and eight hours sleep, not a quick snooze sitting out in the cold, waiting for the sun to rise so she could start the same old shit of her day all over again.

Except it was the weekend. Two whole days alone in this house, nothing to occupy her. Nothing, no one, to break that tall, thick wall she had built up around herself. A wall of ice and fire with no way to pass, not without getting burned, frozen in place. No one could get in, and, Sameen couldn’t get out.

Her stomach rumbling, Shaw let herself back into the house and ignored the piles of unclean dishes in the sink, on the countertops. Tried not to count the number of empty bottles, the evidence of her binge drinking that had become more constant since Root had left her behind. She opened the refrigerator and swore as the emptiness stared back at her. One lone bottle of beer, jars of congealing condiments that she should probably toss out, and a bunch of grapes growing fuzz and starting their own ecosystem right there on the bottom shelf. Shaw crinkled her nose in disgust and grabbed the beer. The cupboards were empty too: she desperately needed to go for a grocery run. Maybe later, when the pain in her shoulder eased a little, when the tight, coiled up tension in her back went away.

There was leftover pizza sitting in a box on the table and after a brief inspection, Shaw determined it was still edible and grabbed a slice.

Cold pizza and beer. The breakfast of champions.

When she was done and the growling in her belly had quietened, the beer dulling the aches in her body, Shaw jumped in the shower, hoping the hot spray of water would loosen up her tense muscles.

But it wouldn’t of mattered how long she stayed under, nothing could ease the tension within her. It proliferated into every muscle, every bone in her body. It made her head ache and her eyes itch and left her with an unsettled feeling, a sense that _something_ was wrong.

 _Everything is wrong._ This house, this town. _Her_.

 _Root too,_ a voice whispered in her head and she closed her eyes, turned her face up into the spray, stood there until the water turned cool, cold. And for a moment she could pretend she wasn’t in Texas; she was somewhere else with the rain beating down on her face, her neck. Her body shivering like a jackhammer pummeling through the hard, solid ground.

A groping hand and the water abruptly shut off. Sameen stood naked, dripping and couldn’t remember when the shivering had stopped, when she had stopped feeling the cold, the warmth or anything else. Her body was numb and it wasn’t until Shaw was drying herself off that she realised Root hadn’t called today, when she usually called on the weekends first thing in the morning (Root’s version of morning, anyway), usually still in bed and sounding like sleep, if sleep had a voice, a persona. Nor had she called the day before… or the day before that?

Shaw couldn’t remember.

_She’s just busy. Promotion, Gen, settling into a new apartment. And you’re busy too. Busy brooding with a beer in your hand. Busy lying to yourself over and over again about everything and everyone._

She got dressed and headed to her car. A quick trip to Robstown where less people knew her, where that feeling of anonymity could shield her for a little while. She needed food and beer and the pretence of being busy.

Busy was good. Busy was mind numbing. She liked being busy.

When she got back, the day was at its hottest; the sun low in the sky, and yet still shining  judgement down on all of them.

The grocery bags she emptied resembled the shopping of a twelve year old, set loose for the first time without parental supervision. Numerous candies - all her favourites, family sized bags of potato chips in varying flavours, frozen meals and the good ole staple no kitchen could be without: beer.

As she filled the cupboards, the refrigerator, Shaw was reminded of that first day she had shown up in Bishop. Unannounced, unexpected, unwanted… There hadn’t been much of the way of healthy, nutritional food back then and she doubted there had ever been until Shaw had arrived, until she had stayed.

Suddenly, Shaw froze with a packet of Red Vines in her hand, a case of beer under the other arm. That feeling of _wrongness_ was back and one thought wouldn’t leave her head, just rolled around in there until she couldn’t take it anymore.

Warm beer and Red Vines for lunch out on the decking, where she could bake in the sun, where her mind could melt and she would stop thinking _how are Root and Gen eating without me?_

Were they living off take out? Lots of variety in NYC. Or was Root risking the attempt at cooking herself?

In Bishop, and before that, during that summer in New York, Shaw had been the one to do all the cooking. Because cooking (and eating) had always been something she enjoyed. But cooking for Root and Gen… That had been different. That had meant something, she knew, and thought perhaps Root, maybe not Gen, had known what it meant too.

With 2000 miles stretched out between them, Shaw could no longer do that for them and the meaning behind it… the meaning got lost across the distance, across the emptiness of the unknown. Lost and gone and Shaw had no idea if she would ever find it again.

All because she was in exile.

This self-imposed exile… Shaw had insisted on it. Had even found the words to try and explain her muddled reasons to Root.

Anger flared suddenly, heating her from within even as the sun touched her skin and burned her from the outside. Anger that was potent, familiar. Anger that she channeled easily into one place, one person.

At Root.

She was angry that Root hadn’t gotten angry. Angry because Root didn’t try to fight, didn’t try to convince her to come with them. Instead all Shaw had seen in Root’s eyes was unbearable understanding and acceptance. All she felt in Root’s touch, her kiss, was goodbye. A sense of finality because they both knew how stubborn she could be.

And maybe for Root… maybe saying goodbye was easier than holding on.

_That’s why the calls have stopped._

The warm beer burned like acid in her gut, but Shaw kept on drinking it anyway. Out of habit. A bad habit she had gotten herself into, even before Root and Gen had left. But a habit that was hard to break all the same. Mainly because she didn’t want to break it; because it was easy to convince herself that she had everything under control. She wasn’t like Root or Daniel. She didn’t need someone to intervene.

Arrogant or stupid. Or both. Right then, Sameen Shaw didn’t care which she was. All she wanted was the noise in her head to stop, for all the symphonies and songs and shouts and screams, all the different tracks of her life all mingled into one loud, incomprehensible noise; she wanted it to stop, to quiet. To make sense. But she could never make sense of it when there was too much of it. Could anyone?

When she had been a kid it had been easier. Back then, she didn’t have the burden of life, of responsibility and purpose, along with all the noise. So it was easy to tune it out. To forget.

The beer didn’t help to quiet it, but she kept on drinking anyway, swallowing down mouthful after mouthful, focusing on the sensation. The fizz on her tongue, the sting of the bitter taste, the roiling of her gut as she filled her belly with it. It was a good, familiar feeling, like the feel of fresh clothes against her skin, of the smoothness of her clean teeth when she ran her tongue across them. It was a part of her now and without it, who would she be? Would she still be Sameen Shaw? Or someone else? A person she didn’t really know or particularly like.

She had to laugh then. A snort of derision. _Everything under control_ , she thought. _Sure._

She poured out the remains of her now too warm beer, unsurprised when only a few dribbles leaked out onto the dry grass at her feet. A bad habit it may be, she thought as she tossed the bottle to join its fellows across the otherside of the yard, but habit was all she had now. And it wasn’t like she was a stranger to hard drinking. Shaw had always been able to hold her booze better than most. And when most of her existence was a blank space of empty nothingness, the buzz from a few beers and a shot of decent scotch was the only sense of feeling she could reach. The buzz, the loss of her inhibitions. For a little while she was almost like everyone else.

Almost.

It never lasted. It was never real.

She used to think she didn’t need it anyway, that false sense of _something_ a few drinks could give her. She didn’t want or need to be like everyone else. She was her. She was Sameen: doctor, marine, assassin (lover, friend, parent). All those things brushing against the emptiness, giving her a glimpse of what life could be, what it was for everyone else.

She never liked those glimpses.

After Root left, the first time, it had become more than a glimpse. It was a giant gaping hole in the center of her existence. A hole she hadn’t been able to fill. Not with Gen, not with the Machine, her partnership with Daniel. It hadn’t really begun to heal, to fix itself until Shaw followed Root to Bishop. And she wondered now if it would ever fully heal. If, now that it was there, open and raw and hard to ignore with the itch of it, she wondered if she would ever be able to let go, to forget that view of the other side. She wondered if she even wanted to.

It was her third, or perhaps fourth (but more likely fifth) beer she was on when she realised she was no longer alone. A brief movement out of the corner of her eye. The alcohol had dulled her senses, but not that much. She was still aware, still capable of shooting straight. And, after the Russians, Shaw rarely went anywhere without a gun hidden in her ankle holster. A force of habit she had never really let go of since being a marine.

She was reaching for her gun, arm hidden from the intruder, when she heard the timid greeting. Shaw was still half tempted to reach for the gun anyway. The last thing she wanted was company and even if she had been in the mood for it, a thirteen year old girl wouldn’t have been her first choice. Or her second. Nor her last. She wouldn’t even be on the goddamn list.

Shaw sighed, swallowed some beer. This one was still cool at least, but it did nothing to ease the gentle throbbing in her head that was slowly starting to increase with each passing second she sat out here in the sun.

“What do you want, kid?”

“This is Gen’s,” Meg Grayson said and, without ceremony, shoved a frayed looking comic book under Shaw’s nose.

Shaw stared at it, for far longer than she had meant to, then looked up at Meg hovering over her, nervously biting her lip and staring somewhere past Shaw’s shoulder. Somewhere far away and perhaps long ago.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Shaw drank her beer, ignoring the outstretched hand, the comic book and trying not to think about the last time she had seen Meg Grayson. Pale and scared and yet somehow no longer intimidated by her loser deadbeat father.

“Can you get it back to her?” Meg asked.

Once, she may have stuttered, the comic book would have shook in her hand and her feet would twitch in eagerness to bolt. But this was a different Meg Grayson. She seemed older to Shaw somehow. That day, when the Russians came after Gen, when they had come so close to losing her for good, that day had affected more than just Gen. More than just Root and the close to dying Shaw. It had been Meg’s fault, Shaw remembered. Meg and her father. Cody fucking Grayson messing with things he had no real understanding of. No doubt he was on those elusive Russian’s shit list too, those few of Volkov’s followers who had escaped the carnage that day.

She remembered, vaguely, being told all that had happened, when she was lying stiff and bored in a hospital bed, the only thing linking her to the world around her had been the pain in her shoulder. A pain that not even the best painkillers could reach. She had asked for a debrief, insisted on it and Reese had filled her in as much as he could. How the Machine had arranged for him and Fusco to be in Texas, their hurried instructions to reach the airfield that day. His assurance that Volkov was dead and she hadn’t needed to ask to know it was him who had ended it. An act that had brought a peace that seemed to sap the energy from him, the life, until he looked just as old and tired and done with the world’s bullshit as she felt.

But it no longer ate at him like it used to, that life of his. And it was a secret, that peace he had obtained, one that she wished he would share. Share with Root, with them all.

It was over, though. For the most part, it was over. The Machine was keeping tabs on all those remaining alive within the Russian Bratva, those still loyal to Volkov, those who might be foolish enough to seek revenge. There was a power void to fill and most were occupied with that, Shaw was sure. All the same, it was reassuring to know the Machine was watching, even if Shaw still didn’t entirely trust or understand the damn thing.

The comic book was still under her nose and Shaw was beginning to think the kid wouldn’t leave until she took it, promised to deliver it to Gen personally and present Meg with a receipt of proof that the deed had been done.

So she took the book, made a vague promise to send it on to Gen and sat with it in her hand for a moment, staring at the cover.

Without knowing how the hell she knew, some instinct deep in her gut that hadn’t been extinguished by the beer yet, told her that this was Gen’s favourite. And, gently, almost fearfully, she opened the first page. Stared at the handwritten Japanese symbols on the inside cover and _remembered_.

Remembered Daizo and his boyish grin, his eagerness and wonder despite knowing all the shit that went on in the world. Like Shaw, he had been an outsider, but their group, their _family_ , made sure neither of them felt that way for very long. In a way, they were all outsiders. But there had been something about Daizo, an innocence not found in the others. An innocence that had been cruelly taken away far too soon.

Shaw forced herself to close the book, to close away the memories of that night, of Daizo lying dead in Root’s arms. The comic had been his and when Gen had inherited them, she treasured them more than life itself.

That she had loaned this one to Meg said a lot about their friendship. Two lonely, messed up kids just trying to find a piece of normalcy in this dry and unforgiving desert. And, not only had Gen trusted her with the comic that had belonged to her dead friend, a friend who was the closest thing to a big brother she ever had, but she had trusted Meg enough to tell her about her father. The father who had orchestrated her mother’s murder and forced Gen into hiding.

For that trust to have been broken… That must have hurt, Shaw thought. And Gen had never been one to trust easily, even less so since coming to Bishop and perhaps even before that, when they had all trusted Jason only for him to hurt and betray them all. Maybe that was when she stopped being the innocent kid, became the wary, angry teenager.

Her beer was empty now and she wanted another, wanted to hide the comic book inside somewhere so she wouldn't have to look at it, be reminded by it.

Meg was still lingering at her side, saying nothing and watching Shaw when she thought Shaw wasn't looking. But Shaw could feel those eyes on her, feel the words Meg had yet to say aloud clog up the air between them

 _“What?”_ Shaw finally snapped and regretted it instantly when Meg flinched. She had been harsher than she intended, but why the fuck wouldn’t the kid just go away? She didn’t need an audience to witness her bad habits, her dark brooding silence, and she certainly didn’t want anyone trying to talk her out of it. Especially not some kid who’s fault it was she had gotten shot and almost died.

And yet, Meg did not leave. Then, after a beat of tense silence, she asked, without any preamble: “Do you miss them?”

The question hit Shaw like a rock thrown through a window. Instead of glass shattering, it was something else within her. The denial, she thought. Or perhaps just her resolve as she finally admitted to herself that yes, she did miss them.

And she was a fucking idiot for staying behind.

Whatever reasons, noble or not, that had kept her here meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. They certainly didn’t matter to Gen, who hated her for not coming back to New York with them. And Root could act all fine and understanding about it, could give Shaw the space she needed to quiet the noise in her head, but Shaw knew her decision to stay had hurt Root deeply. She knew it as certainly as she knew the emptiness in her chest was because she was here and they were _there_.

“I miss her,” said Meg. “It’s… it’s lonely here.”

 _Lonely._ Shaw scowled. All her life, loneliness had never been something to contend with. Even after her dad died, mâmân had been there. And later, as she got older, she found other people outside her small family unit (or what was left of it back then) were not worth her time. If they weren’t a patient, a fellow soldier, a number needing saving or stopped, if they were just normal, everyday people going about their lives, then Shaw had no need of them.

For a long time, she hadn’t needed friends either. Hadn’t wanted them. But need was a fickle thing and sometimes you didn’t know you needed something or someone until it was there one day and then suddenly gone the next.

A sigh escaped Shaw’s lips. She didn’t want company, but perhaps she did _need_ it.

“Go get yourself a drink, kid.”

“I’m thirteen.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “I meant a soda.”

The kid smiled, a small carefree smile that Shaw didn’t think she had ever seen on her before. It was the kind of smile, she realised, that revealed the true person underneath. This was the Meg Grayson that Gen knew, that she had befriended and trusted.

She was surprised to find she didn’t regret her offer for a drink and when Meg returned with a coke in one hand and an open bottle of beer in the other, Shaw decided she could get used to this idea of company after all.

Wordlessly, Shaw took the offered beer, eyebrow raised in question as Meg took a seat next to her on the hard and worn decking. So worn, splinters were a hazard; one Shaw herself hadn’t managed to avoid on more than one occasion. Meg left a big enough gap between them that prevented Shaw from feeling like her space was being invaded by touchy-feely aliens. It occurred to her that Meg Grayson was a lot smarter, a lot more observant than her timid appearance implied. Then again, it was always the quiet ones, the invisible ones, that noticed more than the loud and obnoxious ones. It was easy to see what others missed, what people dropped their guard and revealed when they thought nobody of significance was around. It wasn’t a mistake Shaw made often. She herself had a way of being observant, of being careful around people. Yet, here in Bishop, she had let her guard down more than once. Hadn’t that been how Cody Grayson and gotten to her? The reason why he had sought revenge?

“I’m used to fetching for my dad,” said Meg with a shrug. The crack and hiss of the soda can opening was loud, unearthly almost, in the silent garden. The silent town of empty nothing.

 _Could Cody Grayson be anymore of a typical drunk dad?_ Shaw wondered with a grunt as she swallowed down a mouthful of beer. It tasted sour as well as bitter and she remembered the last time she had seen Meg, when she’d tossed her a key and told her to come here if her dad woke up angry and unreasonable. Shaw didn’t know if she ever did show up here in the aftermath of that day. She had been too busy bleeding out and afterwards, after the emergency surgery and the reunions in the hospital, her revealed intentions to Root, after that Meg Grayson and her father had been less than an afterthought.

Part of her now wished she had asked Root, while the rest of her internally scolded herself for not checking up on Gen’s friend in the weeks since they had let her out of the hospital and she returned to Bishop, alone.

As she watched Meg now, Shaw wondered if that was why the kid was really here. If the comic book was just a ruse because Meg felt too scared to stay at home.

“How are things?” Shaw asked suddenly. “With you. At home, I mean.”

There was a moment of silence so thick that for a horrifying second Shaw fully believed Meg was about to burst into tears right there beside her. When she finally forced herself to look at Meg, studied her features carefully, she could see no fear there, no emotional turmoil. Not a scared kid looking for help but not knowing how to ask. She was just a kid, small and lonely in the wake of losing her only friend.

“It’s okay,” Meg finally said and Shaw believed her. “He drinks root beer mostly now. My dad,” she added hastily, as if there could be anyone else they were talking about. “Sometimes even puts a scoop of ice cream in it. Says it reminds him of being fourteen again.”

 _Fourteen again._ Right around the age Cody had been before Root’s friend, Hanna, had disappeared. Before the town had turned against him and condemned him as a killer without a scrap of proof.

This nostalgic, root beer float drinking Cody was nothing like the adult Shaw had crossed paths with on too many occasions. That Cody was someone bitter. Someone who couldn’t let go of grudges from the past.

“He made us dinner last night,” said Meg. Now she was talking, she didn’t seem able to stop. “He hasn’t made a meal for us since I was five.”

Shaw didn’t want to believe it, more because she couldn’t really picture Cody Grayson and his one good eye doing the perfect impression of a domestic dad.

Why was he doing it? Out of guilt? Had the defiance his daughter shown him that day, the day Root and Shaw had made him confess what he had done, had it made him rethink his actions, his life? Was he really a changed man, now trying to do right by his kid, clean himself up?

Shaw didn’t know, didn’t trust that it would last. And as much as she despised Cody, she hoped for Meg’s sake the change was genuine, that it would stick, that maybe they could both start to untangle themselves from the feral claws of this town.

“He even promised me a trip to California now that school’s out,” said Meg excitedly.

Shaw had the impression it was the first she had been excited about anything in a long time. And, now that she had started, it seemed like Meg couldn’t stop herself from gushing out all her news. It didn’t seem to matter that her audience was unresponsive and Shaw’s silence went ignored. It occurred to Shaw that she was playing the role of stand-in, because the kid had no other friends and Shaw was the last link she had to Gen.

“My aunt lives out there,” Meg continued. “She’s an actress. Well, trying to be. I haven’t seen her since my mom-”

The abrupt silence was followed by the sounds of Meg taking a large swallow of her soda. _Liquid courage_ , Shaw thought and had to hide a smirk behind her own version of liquid luck.

“She doesn’t like my dad,” said Meg, clutching the soda can in her hand like it was the only thing holding her onto this world, in this time and space. If she let go, a gust of wind, some unseen force, would sweep her up and up and up until she was lost forever. “They don’t get on. But she’s sent me cards, presents when she could - I know she struggles out there.”

Shaw nodded like she cared. Maybe in a way she did, if only because Gen would care, would be pleased for her friend.

“She’s always inviting me to come stay with her,” Meg added quietly as if afraid to say it too loud. Too loud would bring it notice, would involve scrutiny and, then, how easy this new hope, this excitement, could be taken away from her.

For the first time during their conversation, everything began falling into place in Shaw’s mind. Cody wasn’t turning over a new leaf, suddenly becoming a better father and trying to make up for all the years of intimidation and neglect, of coming home drunk and threatening his kid, sometimes losing control and letting the violence of his hand speak his anger for him.

No, he wasn’t about to become dad of the year and clean up his act. Shaw understood people like him, had seen the way their own flaws and insecurities tumbled out of them to attack those closest.

Cody Grayson was saying goodbye. And, Shaw thought with a sureness as though she had read it in a textbook for an exam, he was saying goodbye as the father he ought to have been, the father who he hoped Meg would remember him as before things had gotten bad. Before her mom had passed away and Meg became his only outlet for all the rage and pain within himself.

Shaw allowed Meg to talk a little more, although she had stopped listening now, stopped sipping at her beer. Not that it would have been able to still her drifting thoughts. They were like waves in a storm and when the tide finally came in, what washed up to shore was always the same thing.

Root and Gen. That life waiting for her in New York, much like how Meg’s new life was waiting for her in California. The similarity ended there. Shaw didn’t have a father to say goodbye, to let her go. Not anymore.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? The whole - or at least part of it - reason why she had stayed in this town. Because Sameen Shaw had never gotten to say goodbye. And with that one missed opportunity, that missed chance of getting to make her father proud as she graduated med school, served her country, saved the world… She never got any of that and she never would. It left an emptiness inside of her that she could no longer fill. Not with work, not with a purpose. There was no purpose, no meaning. No reason why the car had flipped over that night, why she didn’t have a scratch on her. No reason why her bâbâ had to die.

Later, once Meg had ran out of things to talk about and had to rush home to the homemade pizza her dad was right then rolling flat for her, Shaw went back inside and poured the remains of her warm beer down the kitchen sink. She watched the rippling bubbles of the pale golden liquid as it swirled down the drain. And when she closed her eyes, she could see it again, remember the sound of breaking glass, the smell of burnt rubber, and she could taste the sandwich they had fed her as she sat wrapped in a blanket waiting for her mom, waiting for the world to change. She remembered knowing her father was dead. Remembered feeling nothing but the hunger in her stomach. There had been a vague sense of awareness that she shouldn’t be hungry, that she should be sad, upset, crying. She was none of those things and she ate her sandwich believing all that would come when her mother arrived.

It never did. Never, never. Until now.

“Fuck this,” Shaw hissed and turned abruptly. The now empty bottle left her hand. Hit the wall with a bang; that satisfying smash as it shattered into pieces. She stared at it for a moment, unable to take her eyes away. Those pieces of glass, so sharp and unforgiving. Never would they find themselves whole again. Not by themselves.

She wondered if she was like that. If Root was too. If they would ever be able to put themselves back together without the other there to hold the pieces together.

The glass sparkled in the light and she could smell the lingering scent of beer. A scent she never used to mind. But it reminded her now of the path she was on and where it was leading. How close it was to intersecting the path of the likes of Cody Grayson. The awareness gnawed at her, but the knowledge wasn’t enough. It couldn’t show her how to get off the path, find a better one. Find a way home.

Exhaustion suddenly came upon her, although she knew it had been there awhile. Waiting in the dark, watching her. Her feet moving towards the couch felt automatic, natural and she was asleep within seconds when her head finally hit the cushion.

Roughly seven hours later she awoke to the sound of her cell phone. A harsh ringing that took her a moment to realise wasn’t some alarm she had set and forgotten about. Someone was calling her.

Unable to squash the annoyance at her rude awakening, Shaw picked up the phone, becoming angry by the time she answered. Her head was full of the fog of a hangover. Not enough sleep. Not enough proper food. The faint lingerings of her usual dream set her on edge. Not the dream itself, but just the mere fact she was still having the damn thing, over and over again.

The crash. Her part in it, unscathed. Her father… not so lucky. And then, somehow, Root. Always Root.

“What?” Shaw growled without bothering to check who it was. She _knew_ who it was. No one else bothered to call. No one else cared.

“And a good morning to you too, sugar pie.”

Pie came out “pah” and the Texas twang of Root’s voice that Shaw may have once found amusing, perhaps endearing, suddenly grated on her nerves.

“What do you want, Root?”

She must have sounded angrier than she really had any right to be, could tell from Root’s sharp intake of breath, the way she paused before speaking. Her words finally leaving her mouth like a cold breath on a winter’s day.

“Just checking in, Sameen. It’s been awhile…”

She couldn’t remember how long it had been exactly. Not because she hadn’t noticed. She just hadn’t wanted to linger too long on the reasons why.

“Checking in,” said Shaw stiffly. “Right. Well, nothing new to report on my end. How’s _Gen_?” She spat out the name like she had inadvertently swallowed a nasty bug, its wings beating furiously against her tongue before she forced it out.

The anger, she realised, wasn’t all for Root, wasn’t all born from the lingering memory of the last moments of her father’s life.

She was mad at Gen.

Not once during one of Root’s daily calls had Gen spoken to her. Hadn’t even sent her so much as a text message since she and Root had left. The same girl who had written secret letters to Root for a year, even after Root had ran off and broken the kid’s heart. And here was Shaw, still in Texas, for reasons she was sure no longer made sense, having to listen to some kid prattle on about her life in the hope that she would pass her news onto Gen. As if Gen was still talking to her.

All at once, that anger channeled towards Gen abruptly shifted. Turned and began to flow towards Root instead. Root and Gen: thick as thieves together for years now.

Root was the one with Gen, the one allowing her to continue this wall of silence.

With no justification whatsoever, with no hard evidence, Shaw decided this was Root’s way of payback. For that year she ran away and Shaw’s reaction, her anger and reluctance, when she finally came back.

The silence that followed Shaw’s angry uttering of Gen’s name was the longest she had ever experienced. She wanted to be there in New York, right now. Just so she could see Root’s face, find some meaning in the silence. Yet, at the same time, part of her never wanted to go back there at all. In Bishop she was at a standstill and Shaw thought - _believed_ \- it was better that way. Better for Root and Gen and to hell with whatever was good for her.

“What’s wrong?” Root finally asked. Each word came out slowly, carefully.

 _I miss you. I hate you._ That’s _what’s wrong_ , Shaw thought and didn’t know what, if any of it, was true.

“Nothing,” Shaw muttered. “I’m just tired.”

“Sameen-”

“I gotta go.” And she hung up before Root could say more, before she could talk the anger out of Shaw.

And when she tossed the phone away, watching as it skidded across the coffee table, she could only hope that Root would call back. That Shaw would only have to say her name in that soft, almost breathless way, and all would be forgiven. All would be forgotten.

The phone didn’t ring. Not then. And not the next day either. Not for lots of days. With each one that passed, the hole of emptiness inside her, this dark abyss that sucked everything good into it, seemed to get bigger, deeper, until it was too overwhelming. Until not even the booze or work or running could fill it up again and close it off.

Shaw could only scold herself at how well she had managed to fuck things up when they were 2000 miles apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tying up loose ends kinda chapter, but also leading towards what's coming next.


	53. Part 4: Chapter 53

The blood pressure machine hissed, deflated. The patient eagerly took the arm cuff off, making an exaggerated show of rubbing feeling back into his arm. He was overweight, his last cholesterol check results far too high, his blood pressure through the roof. Doctor Gray had prescribed a healthy eating regime and regular exercise. Given the three pounds he had gained since his last check up two weeks ago, he hadn’t been following that advice.

Shaw sighed. Her mind, as usual, was elsewhere. She noted the BP readings in the patient’s file, tried her best to sound caring but concerned as she gave him what was becoming a familiar and repetitive lecture, and knew she had failed on both counts. Her voice was too flat and Mr Rogers wasn’t the first patient of hers that day - or that week - to notice how lifeless Doctor Sameen Gray was becoming.

She could see it in their eyes. An unmasked concern that was more wariness for themselves than for her; and she had to wonder if this was a new quality in Doctor Gray and, if it was, what the fuck had she been like before? Because she couldn’t imagine herself all smiles and pleasantries. Not in this town or anywhere else. Not in this life.

When Rogers finally took his leave, breathing heavily as he struggled to hop down off the exam bed, he looked more relieved to be free of Shaw than she was of him. But that was the way of it with all of her patients lately. She had no patience for them and she thought it would be only a matter of time before one of them lodged a complaint with Madison, requested a new, less brusk doctor to treat them. Unless they went out of town, their only other option was Madison himself and in Shaw’s opinion, with his forgetfulness and tendency to over-prescribe unneeded medication, she was still the far better choice. If her patients couldn’t deal with her attitude... then, tough shit.

After a few minutes had passed, when Shaw was sure her patient had made it out of the building and she wouldn’t have to interact with him again until his next appointment, she ventured out of her cool office and into the empty but stifling waiting room. The AC was broken again and Judy, their ever useless receptionist, was propped behind her desk, shoes off, pants rolled up to the knees and one of those handheld fans shoved in her face. It was obvious to Shaw - and anyone else who happened to walk into the clinic that day - that Judy had stopped working several hours ago.

“Did you find that patient’s history I asked for?” _Three hours ago_ , Shaw added bitterly.

It still astounded her that so much of the practice was done in hard copies. Her day would be so much easier - and she would have to interact with Judy far less - if everything was electronic. But Madison still lived in the dark ages, seemed to fear every piece of new technology he encountered, then somehow broke it and refused to ever touch it again.

The clinic’s aging computer was useless anyway and barely managed to function well enough for Judy to record patient appointments. It might have been top of the range in 1998; but, Shaw suspected, even back then, it hadn’t been up to much. Root would be horrified by it, Shaw thought and then quickly forced her thoughts away from _that_ subject entirely.

The days of silence since their last phone call, when Shaw had let her anger get the better of her, stretched out behind and ahead of her and she refused to allow herself to dwell on it for long.

“Judy,” Shaw said impatiently, when no answer seemed forthcoming.

She gritted her teeth when Judy continued to ignore her. She was in a world of her own. When she finally lowered the fan and glanced at Shaw, she had the audacity to be the one that looked annoyed.

“Sorry to keep you from your work.” said Shaw, sarcasm dripping from her voice like honey from a spoon, “but I need that file.”

A sigh. Loud and overdramatic. Shaw withheld an eyeroll, resisted the urge to hit something and waited. She watched while Judy made an agonisingly slow show of looking through the files scattered on her desk. She forced herself not look at her watch or glance at the clock on the wall in the waiting area that was six minutes slow; a poor attempt at tricking the patients into believing their appointment would be on time for once. If she did, she knew it would only send a ripple of satisfaction through Judy and she would take even longer to search for what Shaw was looking for.

Not that it would have mattered anyway. What felt like hours later, but couldn’t have been more than a minute, maybe two, the fan was back in Judy’s face and instead of the file Shaw had been waiting for all day, she received a disinterested shrug instead.

“S’not here,” said Judy in a bored, uncaring voice.

Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a headache blooming in the backs of her eyes, made worse firstly by Judy, and then, secondly, by the lack of air circulation in the waiting room.

“Any idea where it _might_ be?” Shaw was so tense with impatience it came out more of a growl than a sentence.

All of a sudden, Judy had that look in her eyes that Shaw was seeing so frequently in her patients. Not quite fear, but a wariness, like somewhere deep down in the darkest parts of themselves, they sensed what Shaw was capable of. It stilled the shrug in Judy’s shoulders and she quickly changed it into a gesture towards the row of filing cabinets lining the wall behind her desk.

“If it exists, it’s in one of them.”

No indication of which cabinet, which drawer. Then again, Shaw supposed, this was more cooperation than she had come to expect from the inefficacious receptionist.

She left Judy to her fan and the gossip magazines she wasn’t quite successfully hiding in amongst the patient files scattered across her desk. Not knowing where to start, Shaw pulled the top drawer open of the nearest filing cabinet and glowered as she looked at the mess of files inside. At a glance, she could see that nothing was labelled. Everything had been shoved in at random with no thought or care at sorting.

“Isn’t it your job to do the filing?” Shaw opened the second drawer and found it in a similar state. There was the urge to throw something at Judy to get her attention, but she must have been waiting eagerly for the look on Shaw’s face when she discovered the filing system. Or, better said, the _lack_ of one.

“I don’t get paid enough for that,” she said and blatantly turned a page in her magazine. Shaw caught a glimpse of some celebrity she didn’t know caught in a compromising pose with some other guy that Shaw didn’t recognise and the caption above them in bright bold red: AFFAIR SCANDAL ON THE SET OF-

The rest was lost somewhere beneath Judy’s thumb, the nail painted an obnoxious pink, just as Judy herself was lost in the glossy ink and paper with enough juicy gossip to sustain her until at least the end of her shift.

“Fine,” Shaw muttered, not caring if the receptionist was still listening to her or not. “I’ll do it myself.”

Turning her back on the rest of the waiting area, Shaw began pulling out all the files from the open cabinet drawer. There was no flat surface available so she dumped them on the floor, before moving onto the next drawer and doing the same. About halfway through emptying the first cabinet, Shaw realised with annoyance that this method wasn’t going to work. If she carried on with each filing cabinet she would soon be swimming in files with no clue as to where to even begin to sort them. She needed a plan of how she would organise them before she had every single patient file, inventory record (she spotted with a glare - apparently everything and anything got shoved in the cabinets without a thought) and whatever else Madison had kept over the years and deemed too important to toss out.

It was going to be a long, dull and thankless job.

Glancing at the clock, Shaw noted the time and went through her mental planner. Rogers had been her last patient of the day and all she had to look forward to was an empty house and stale leftovers. _Fuck that_ , she decided and shrugged off her lab coat. Sweat made her skin glisten, her bangs stick to her forehead. She brushed them aside and sat on the floor amongst the mountains of files; multi-coloured folders with varying degrees of fraying at their corners and patient names so old, the ink was starting to fade.

She was going to be here for awhile.

*

The work was boring, as she knew it would be. Stubbornness kept her going and the knowledge that if she stopped and gave up now (after two hours swamped in files and making very little progress, with Judy at her desk with her feet up and not even bothering to conceal the magazines now, or the contempt for Shaw she felt at having her workspace invaded) would mean defeat and, unbearably, it would mean that Judy had won without lifting a finger. And that, to Shaw, was totally unacceptable. So she kept working, ignored Judy as best she could and focused on what she was doing. With the endless piles of files, with the dull ache in her lower back and her butt growing numb from the hard floor, there was little energy or space left in her brain for her thoughts to drift to other things.

Time passed and still she worked. Madison’s last patient of the day hurried out of his office with a prescription clutched in one pudgy hand, her other giving Judy a polite wave. No one acknowledged Shaw. No one so much as looked at her, sitting crouched on the floor immersed in the medical histories of practically everyone in Bishop.

Judy didn’t move from her desk unless it was to go to the bathroom or grab a can of Diet Coke from the fridge in the breakroom. Each time she passed, Shaw could feel the smirk like a hot poker branding into her skin and it occurred to her that Judy might have won after all anyway. Then it became harder for her to see the point of it all. Not just the refiling, but her job here as Doctor Sameen Gray, her life - or lack of one - here in Bishop. What was the point in any of it?

And, of course, as soon as that thought passed through her brain, the sight of Root and Gen swam in front of her vision, like a blurred after image. When she closed her eyes she could see them more clearly. And, as always, there they were in their apartment in New York, the one where they had spent a summer before everything went to shit.

In her head, she knew they would never get back to that place again, but in her heart (and there was no other way she could think to describe it), she longed for it. For them. For that time before when everything seemed a lot simpler, when their burdens and pasts hadn’t yet caught up with them.

A loud _thud_ , the kind that only a large pile of paper hitting wood could produce, roused Shaw from her thoughts. She glanced up and found Doctor Madison stretching over Judy’s desk, both hands pressed against a fresh pile of files. The source of the sound. The source of a fresh grin on Judy’s face and, without a doubt, the source of the rampaging headache in Shaw’s head that was quickly becoming a migraine.

“Judy says y’all redoing the filing,” said Madison.

Shaw said nothing, not wanting to give Judy anymore entertainment or satisfaction than she was already receiving today. And, she conceded, Madison was getting on a bit. She didn’t think his body or his mental capacity could handle it if she unleashed her full annoyance at him.

“I thought, since you’re already at it…” He shrugged and gestured to the files he’d dumped on the reception desk. “Old patients,” he explained.

“Old?” said Shaw. Since when was filing by patient age a thing? No wonder Judy could never find anything.

“Old as in no longer with us.”

Judy let out an exaggerated gasp and covered her mouth with boths hands.

Shaw ignored her.

“As in dead?” She felt like she should be speaking slowly and loudly, using wild hand gestures to get her point across. It made her think, briefly, of parent’s night in 4th grade. Her mom had been late. After the accident… Sameen had been quiet, more quiet than usual, but Mâmân… she had been scattered, she had been forgetful, lost. And she had to walk from her job across the other side of town from Sameen’s school because she hadn’t dared put so much as a foot inside a car since the accident. They walked everywhere, no matter the weather, no matter how far. And Sameen never complained. Somewhere, in the hazy, not quite grown-up yet, part of her brain, she sensed just how close Mâmân had come to losing everything. So she had kept quiet, endured the blisters on her feet and knew that her mom would show up eventually. She always did.

But the delay had been long enough for Sameen’s teacher to notice the missed appointment, to frown at Sameen sitting alone in the corridor with a book in her hands, sometimes her homework. Just long enough for the assumptions to kick in. And by the time Mâmân arrived, greeting Sameen with a kiss on the top of her head that had gone unnoticed and unreciprocated by Sameen, her teacher had decided she didn’t like Sameen’s mother. Sameen hadn’t known why, not back then, not really. But as she grew older, as she saw more of the world and the people in it she figured she knew what it was really about and it wasn’t her mother’s tardiness.

The teacher and been terse and clipped with her mother, talking in a voice far above normal and so slow that Shaw would have diagnosed the beginnings of a stroke. If Sameen had been any other kid, she might have laughed at the ridiculous display. But she wasn’t any other kid. She was Sameen Shaw, her father was dead and her Mâmân hadn’t smiled in the six months since it had happened.

_As in dead_? Shaw’s question echoed back at her and she wondered if the army still had a file on her father somewhere and how difficult it would be to acquire it if they did.

“Some are,” said Madison. “Some just moved out of town. I like to keep them a while, just in case.” He smiled as if this were very brilliant and new age of him. Shaw just stared and the smile curved downward into a frown.

With a sigh, Shaw gestured for him to give her the files and she deposited them somewhere near her feet.

Hours later, with both Madison and Judy long gone home, Shaw had ordered takeout and was halfway through a large pizza smothered with all her favorites. The work hadn’t got any less boring, but she was at least making progress.

Shoving a large piece of crust in her mouth, Shaw wiped her greasy hands on her pants and climbed to her feet. Her mouth felt dry and as she swallowed she had the vague sensation of someone filling her mouth with cotton balls. Her mouth craved liquid and so did the rest of her body after being locked up in the clinic working all day and most of the evening. She hadn’t even noticed the sun going down and she stared out the large window whose job it was to fill the waiting room with bright, warm natural light. She saw the empty parking lot, the lone car that was hers. The front bumper was still scraped and dented from their run in with the van on the airfield as she narrowly missed a couple of Volkov’s thugs. That day seemed so long ago now. The scar on her shoulder was almost fully healed, but still there. Still a reminder, a warning, of what had happened and what could happen again.

Her eyes drifted from the car to the pale, grey sky, hovering above Bishop. _Could be rain tomorrow,_ she speculated, her finger tracing the faint ridge of the scar that wasn’t quite covered by the thin straps of her tank top. Rain would be good. She hadn’t seen any rain for months.

Shaw tore her eyes away from the fading light and headed for the small breakroom that was positioned opposite the toilets near the back of the clinic. It was little more than a walk-in closet; consisting of a fridge with a microwave on top (a microwave that hadn’t worked since long before Shaw had started working there), and a small table with one chair. Most of the table was covered by the coffee machine none of them used because, without a doubt and no matter who made it, the coffee always had a burnt and unpleasant taste to it.

She grabbed one of Judy’s Diet Cokes from the fridge. The liquid was fizzy and cool on her tongue, just what her parched mouth and throat needed. She longed for a beer, but that was a habit she had been trying to kick lately. A habit that had turned into the flippancy of a casual smoker, one who realised their smoking only on night's out with friends had turned into one cigarette a day, then quickly up to three until they were soon craving one first thing in the morning and were now desperately trying to stop and kidding themselves that they could go cold turkey as they coughed up their guts.  
  
Shaw wasn't quite going cold turkey with the beer, but she was no longer guzzling it down like it was water. Instead, she replaced the urge to drink with work, kept busy. Kept the memories at bay. Or, at least, _tried_ to.   
  
And it was working tonight, for the most part. When they leaked into the forefront of her brain it didn't take Shaw long to notice and she would quickly force them away, pick up another file and absorb herself in her task.   
  
There was still a few good hours of work to go. And, somehow, the quiet clinic didn't feel as empty as that house on the other side of town did. It was a good kind of empty here. Peaceful, almost. There weren't a lot of echoes of memories wished forgotten here and Shaw was suddenly glad Root had only ever come here a few times to meet her for lunch. There had been no stolen make-out sessions, hiding in the storage cupboard from Judy. No quickies on the exam room bed in between patients.   
  
Shaw forced down the last of her Diet Coke before her brain could delve any further into that particular fantasy.   
  
Sometimes fantasy was worse than memory.   
  
She grabbed another soda and went back to the main reception area. It had been less than five minutes since she had gotten up to stretch her legs, but outside the sky had darkened to a gunmetal grey.   
  
The caffeine in the soda would keep her going for a few more hours, but Shaw had no intention of staying here all night. The food and the stretch had helped with the stiffness and general run down feeling in her body. Long gone were the days where she could stay up cramming all night for an exam or sitting hunched in a car on a stakeout. It wasn't fun, this business of getting older. At age thirty-something, it had crept up on her rather silently and stealthily. She was still physically fit, stronger and with a stamina that could out pace anyone a decade younger than her. But all the injuries added up, this currency of her life. Those scars and aches that told the story of who she was, who she had been. Her body felt them more acutely with each passing day, like it didn't want her to forget. Never forget.   
  
Reception was filled with the scent of hot cheese and tomato sauce. The pizza had gone cold by now but Shaw didn't mind. She meandered her way through the mountains of files and the improbable obstacle course they created. She wasn’t as nimble as she used to be. The heel of her left foot nudge the top of one particularly precarious pile as she was stepping over it and the result was a domino effect of paper scattering across the floor. Shaw swore, sighed, reached for a slice of cold pizza. She was using Judy's desk chair as a makeshift table, setting it as low as it would go. She crouched down on her knees to grab a slice, unwilling to strain the muscles in her back when they were already temperamental these days. It was that proximity to the floor that allowed Shaw to catch the glimpse of a name on one of the patient files she had knocked over.   
  
_S. Groves._

Shaw froze. Time seemed to stop. All the air rushed out of the room and, for a moment, all she could hear was a loud buzzing in her ears.

_Just a name_ , Shaw tried to tell herself. _Just a name and that S could be a G and besides there had to be a hundred other people named S. Groves in the area._   
  
It wasn't just the residents of Bishop that frequented the clinic. Shaw herself had a few patients whose home address was somewhere in Robstown and even more whose address didn't even fall within a particular town's boundaries. Ranches and farmland, those few hopeful Texans trying to make life from the harsh and barren desert.   
  
But even as Shaw told herself all this, she knew it wasn't true. She was as sure of that as she was of that S standing for Samantha. Another Sam. Another patient to add to the pile.   
  
Except S. Groves wasn't just any other patient. Not to Shaw. And her hand hovered over that file, part of her brain reprimanding her about patient confidentiality, the rest of her shouting to know, to open the file and finally see what secrets it contained inside. What secrets Root had been keeping all this time.   
  
There was a slight shake to her fingers as Shaw picked up the file. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breathing suddenly felt like she had just run up thirty flights of stairs. She willed it to calm, all of it. But that calm emptiness was no longer inside her like it usually was. Not tonight. Not with this particular file in her hands.   
  
With one shuddering exhale of breath, Shaw opened the file.   
  
Minutes past and all she did was stare. Her vision blurred, making it difficult to read the words; but her brain wasn't willing to comprehend them anyway. Not until, thinking of Root during that long year alone, she forced herself to read them.   
  
_Congestive heart failure._   
  
_No_ , Shaw thought. _No no no no no_!   
  
She kept reading. Kept telling herself Madison had misdiagnosed. Kept telling herself she would have noticed if it was true.   
  
All those symptoms could be explained away as something else. Shortness of breath, tiredness... a hundred other reasons for them floated through her mind. And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't grab hold of any of them.   
  
And the pills. The pills Root was careful to keep hidden from her, to take when Shaw wasn't looking.   
  
All the signs had been there and Shaw had ignored them all. She hadn't wanted to see them and because she hadn't wanted to, a blind spot had developed until Shaw had barely even allowed herself to think on it.   
  
_Of course_ , she thought. It all made sense now. A horrible, cold sense and the word no! rattled around in her brain again.   
  
She found herself sitting on the floor, file open on her lap and all she could do was stare. The arguments, the protests, all screaming in her head suddenly stopped.   
  
None of them mattered. None of them could change what she was seeing, what she already knew. What she had known for months now, but never allowed herself to believe it, to even think it. To do that would have made it real. Congestive heart failure. There was no hiding from it now.   
  
The soft vibration in her pocket startled Shaw from her numbness. It shattered the walls she was building, pulled her out of the catatonic state she was falling into. She tried to resist it, tried to fight. She wanted more time. More time to pretend, more time to process and think and find a way to make it not so. But the vibration increased, never ceased and Shaw had the fleeting, desperate hope that it would be Root calling her. Root ending the days of silence. Root telling her it wasn't true, that she was going to be okay.

Another lie though. All of it hidden truths, smoke and mirrors. _No no no no no._

"She's dying." The phone was warm pressed to her cheek and it was only then that Sameen noticed they weren't dry, that it wasn't sweat caused by the Texas heat and broken AC. She no longer had it in her to pretend otherwise. Her fingertips brushed against moist skin and she pulled them away to look. She thought of how many times she had stared at her hands only to find blood on them; her own, someone else's. It hardly mattered. This was a new kind of blood. Clear, warm and in the end it represented the same thing. A loss of something (of someone). A loss she could never get back.

_She's dying._ And this time the _no!_ in her head wasn't as clear, like she was only listening to a faint echo of something that had been spoken long ago and no longer could make any difference.

"Oh, Sameen," said the voice of Harold Finch, that wasn't Finch at all. "Aren't you all? Human life... you are all so fragile."

_Fragile,_ Shaw thought with scorn, glancing up at the security camera affixed to the corner of the ceiling. Like they all broke so easily as if made from glass. The Machine - this faux Finch - made them, made Root, sound so weak.

But that point where her arm became shoulder began to itch so persistently she found herself running her fingers across the scar, found herself remembering how close she had been to dying. Again.

You come back from the brink of death so many times, you start to believe you are invincible. But nobody is. Nobody lives forever and everyone dies eventually.

"How long have you known?" _How long has_ Root _known?_

"Since Budapest," said the Machine.

"Budapest?" But it rang a bell, some thread of memory all tangled up inside her that led right back to that year she had tried so hard to forget.

A text message in the middle of the night. The Machine telling her to get to the airport, get on a plane and fly to Budapest, with no explanation as to why. But Shaw had known. Somehow, she had sensed the Machine's desperation, perhaps even it's helplessness. And she had know, of course she had known, that it was to Root the Machine was sending her. She had hated it, that temptation inside of her to give in, to go to Root and bring her home. But the temptation, after so many months of nothing - with the sting of Root walking out on her still feeling fresh - the temptation had been easy to defeat.

Now though... Now she wished she had gone, wished she had discovered the truth back then. Not as if there would have been anything she could have done to change the outcome, but Root... Root wouldn't have had to feel so lost and alone all this time. Shaw could have been there.

More questions fought to escape her mouth. They all caught in the bottle neck of her throat and she swallowed and said nothing and the Machine kept on talking, like it had been waiting to say this for such a long time.

Shaw could remember the snips of one-sided arguments she had overheard. _This_ was what they had been all about. _This_ was why Root had stopped talking to the Machine.

"She wouldn't accept it," said the voice that sounded so like Finch. So filled with the emotion that only a human could bring and yet, somehow, Shaw knew this wasn't faked, wasn't some trick. The Machine may have been using someone else's voice, but the words, the tone, they were all the Machine. "She wouldn't _deal_ with it. And I saw the signs, saw her get ever more reckless as she pursued Jason Greenfield. Budapest had been a close call - too close. Root was only focused on that one thing, cared about nothing else other than finding him."

"So you led her to him?" Shaw remembered the days Jason had spent locked up in the library cage, remembered how lost Root had looked and how desperately she had tried not to care.

"Yes," said the Machine. "There was an opportunity - this conspiracy for the launch codes had been developing for months and I knew Greenfield was somehow involved. I thought if I could end it, bring her home... I thought she would finally begin to deal with it, to take better care of herself."

"But she didn't," said Shaw.  Root wouldn't have dealt with it. She had ignored it, of course she had. Just like Shaw had been ignoring all the signs for months.

"No. I don't believe she _wanted_ to get better."

"You can't get better from heart failure," Shaw pointed out bitterly.

"No," the Machine agreed, "but she wasn't exactly doing anything to prolong her life. She wouldn't slow down. She wouldn't forgive herself."

_Forgive_. Such a hard thing to do. It was never easy forgiving someone for causing you pain. It was even harder to forgive yourself for being the one to inflict it on someone else.

"She thinks she deserves it," said Shaw. Her voice had become hollow, empty. Like Death himself was speaking for her. "She thinks she deserves to die."

"Yes."  
  
"Is that why you sent her here? Forced her to stay in Bishop?"   
  
"I knew that if she was to accept the present, Root first had to deal with her past."   
  
There was an urge, so strong she flinched resisting it, for her to hang up the phone, throw it across the room and relish in the crack it would make as it smashed against the opposite wall. She couldn't stand to hear the Machine talk like this, to hear it confess how it had been playing shrink for months, playing at God as it interfered in Root's life. In all their lives.   
  
"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't _she_ tell me?"   
  
"She made me promise not to," the Machine said simply. "When you finally went after her - followed her to Bishop - I thought, I'd _hoped_ , she might finally be able to tell you. I never intended for you to find out this way."   
  
Finding out the way Shaw had, it had been nothing more than random luck. An accident. There was a dark, impenetrable thought in her head, that told her that without this random chance of circumstances, she would never have known. So many times Root could have told her. So many chances lost. And when Shaw had said she wasn't going back to New York - not with Root and Gen, not yet - when Root didn't resist, just accepted it, Shaw should have pushed. Pushed so hard the secret between them burst open, revealing all. But she hadn't. Shaw hadn't wanted to know. In many ways she was doing exactly what Root had done all this time. She was ignoring it. But no more.   
  
_No more_.   
  
Staying behind in Bishop had seemed so necessary to Shaw a few weeks ago. It had seemed like the most obvious and logical course of action for her to deal with the resurgent memories of her father's death. Memories she couldn't control. Memories she hadn't processed at the time. Shaw had spent so long ignoring those memories, had spent her whole life shrugging off her father's death as if it meant nothing at all. _No more_.   
  
That was the past and the past couldn't be change.   
  
Suddenly the why, the wrongness and unfairness of her father's death that had been taunting her for weeks no longer seemed to matter so much anymore.   
  
But Root mattered. Root was alive. Root was _now_.   
  
_No more. No more hiding like a coward_.   
  
Shaw climbed to her feet, slipped the phone away long before the threads of her decision began to knit themselves together. No more hiding in Bishop. No more ignoring what was right in front of her. Now was the time for her to do something.   
  
The time to act had come and Sameen Shaw didn't need the Machine to tell her what to do. She knew it, could even feel it, that pull towards Root. Always there and even when stretched thin, when it was pulled so taut it almost snapped, it never broke. _Never never_.   
  
Root was her life. Root was _everything_ and Shaw felt sure of it now, felt that pull like the strong tug of a river current during a storm, and she knew she had to tell Root, tell it all even though she hadn't quite articulated it in her own mind yet what it was, exactly, that she had to do, had to say.   
  
Root was dying and the Machine had been right; they all were. But there was still _time_. Time to get to Root, to get things right this time. Time to live.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, so now you all know why I've been terrified of posting this chapter. I always did say RC was going to have an ambiguous happy ending, and I think I foreshadowed this well enough to make it obvious that this was where the story was leading. There's more I want to say but I don't want to spoil the next two chapters. I will be posting them soon (everything is written and just needs some minor editing) and hopefully you'll be sticking along for the last of the ride. I promise it's worth it ~kes


	54. Part 4: Chapter 54

Root had stopped counting the number of messages on her phone. In fact, she had stopped looking at it altogether. Instead abandoned it at the office (perhaps subconsciously on purpose so she wouldn't be tempted to call back), forgot it was there, and spent two weeks awkwardly using landlines whenever she needed to contact somebody who worked for her, or reach Gen and make sure she was okay and not up to anything she wasn't supposed to be doing.

Daniel was the one that found it in the end; handing it back to her with a look on his face that said  _ I know what you're doing, you can't fool me. _ It wasn't like he could prove Root had deliberately left it in his office, so she ignored him, pretended to work on something on her computer and knew she wasn't fooling anyone when he continued to hover.

"Avoiding someone?" he had said and they both knew who that someone was. The same someone who had been absent when Root and Gen had, finally, returned to New York.

Unlike Harold's absence, which was like the perfectly foreshadowed end to some sappy romantic comedy, this other absence followed Root around like it was tied to her back with an invisible chain. One so heavy and dark it sucked the life out of every room she stepped in.

Root ignored his question and began to pack up her things. "I'm going to work the rest of the day at home."  _ To be with Gen. _ Which was her usual excuse.  _ Sorry, can't come into the office today, Gen needs me. You know, it's barely been a month since her father murdered her mother and tried to kidnap her. _

In those early days back in New York, when Harold had first handed the business over to her, balancing work with Gen had been hard. And Gen hadn't exactly been easy to handle. She was just so  _ angry _ all the time and Root no longer knew if it was because of her father or her mother or because Shaw had-

_ Nope. Don't think about that. Don't think about _ her.

But Shaw was all Root could think about. In between making sure Gen wasn't going completely wild and wondering why the hell Harold had put her in charge when she really had no idea what she was doing. At least thinking about Shaw, dwelling and hurting and wanting to cry because what else could she do? - at least that was better than thinking about the other thing.

She was very good at ignoring the other thing.

"Weren't you gonna show Claire-"

"Dammit." Root swore under her breath. She had completely forgotten about Claire, her fresh recruit from Bishop, Texas. Barely older than Gen. Just a kid far from home in the big city, a sick mother who resented the fact that her daughter was the one that had moved them across the country and was now providing for her health care, paying all the bills and putting a roof over their heads and food on the table.

There was a lot about Claire that reminded Root of Sam. She didn't like it. It was too much like a piece of that old life, a piece of Bishop itself, had followed her back here. She wasn't Sam Groves anymore, but it was hard to bite back the twang of her Texas accent when she was around Claire and here, in New York, surrounded by East Coasters and immigrants from all over the world, her accent felt more pronounced than ever. At least in Texas she was just like everybody else. Well, she had sounded like them anyway and it was easy to fool them into believing she  _ was _ just one of them.

Here, she couldn't do that. Not as easily. And not in front of Daniel. He knew her too well. Yet he said nothing of it, did not resent the change in her, the appearance of flaws she had tried so desperately to keep hidden for so many years. Perhaps that was what it meant to find that place where you belong, to find the family you were always meant to have. It meant baring your flaws, accepting your mistakes, and knowing your place in that family would always be there.

But Root - or maybe it was Sam - couldn't so easily accept that. Part of her still thought she didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve Daniel's trust and friendship.

She thought of Jason then; his face swimming in her vision. The gun in his hand. The look in his eyes after the  _ bang.  _ The blood warm and rushing in Root's hands. Daizo had died in her arms - at least he hadn't been cold and alone - and Jason was dead now too. She and Daniel were all that remained of their little group of four. Their family that had been false.

But she didn't want to think about Jason or Daizo or all that she could still lose.

"Could you take care of Claire for me?" Her voice wavering ever so slightly and Daniel looked at her like he knew what she was thinking, that his mind too had went to that dark place.

He nodded. He was doing that a lot lately. Nodding, appeasing. Ever the dutiful servant. No complaints even though Root began to slowly pass off more and more of her work on to him. Was he aware of it? That she was essentially grooming him for the job.  _ Her _ job. She was more subtle than Harold, but Root still had every intention of passing the company off to Daniel. It was only fair that she prepare him. She wasn't exactly going to be around forever.

So Root went home after having spent less than 45 minutes in the office. And most of that time she had spent fumbling with the coffee maker; some flashy thing Harold must have acquired and Root wasn't sure  _ anyone _ had figured out how to use yet and she was way to stubborn to ask for help. She could hack into the Pentagon in thirty stress-free seconds and yet here she was, bested by a coffee maker.

It wasn't until she reached the apartment, found it empty and a hastily written note from Gen saying Lionel was taking her out for the day, that she realised Daniel had slipped her cell phone into her laptop bag. Even after she had purposely tried to leave it in the top drawer of her desk and forget about it for another week.

Now, with it in her hand, solid and hard and  _ real, _ she felt that temptation rise within her again. She was hurt, a little bit angry, thoroughly confused ( _ terrified _ ), but she still missed the sound of Sameen's voice, missed trying to find the hidden meaning behind her dry and often clipped words. She missed Sameen Shaw and, at the same time, Root was relieved she wasn't here. With the distance that separated them there was still that ability to hide from reality. Root wasn't sure she would be able to keep that up with Shaw around. She was tired of hiding and pretending and she knew she couldn't do it anymore.

Root managed not to think about the phone or Shaw for the rest of the morning, instead keeping herself occupied by tidying up the apartment. Which involved mostly clearing up after Gen. Not even a month in the new apartment and Gen had managed to make it her own special kind of chaotic. Root didn't mind so much as she cleared away abandoned dishes, a pair of sneakers she almost tripped over on her way through the door, comic books once thought missing or left behind in Texas she found wedged between couch cushions. She sighed and dumped all of Gen's belongings in her room. Although she herself wasn't exactly a stickler for housekeeping, she missed Shaw's presence and insistence that everything be tidied away and put back in its place. It was exhausting, trying not to annoy Shaw with this tiny thing. Sometimes, for her own amusement and because she loved that haughty glare Shaw could produce - the one that crinkled the corner of her eyes, puckered her lips - she would leave a mess behind on purpose. The coffee ring stain on the kitchen counter, dirty underwear on the bathroom floor. All of it pushed Shaw's buttons in the game that they played.

It wasn't like that with Gen. She was just oblivious, as most teenagers were. And quick to anger, throw a tantrum that would put a two year old to shame. Teenage hormones? Or something else?

_ Something else, _ Root thought.  _ Texas. Volkov. _

It wasn't like they had talked about it. Root wanted to, knew she needed to for Gen's sake more than anything. She just had no idea where to begin. So she avoided the confrontation and let Gen lock herself up in her room for the rest of the summer, only coming out when Root coaxed her into it. She wondered what Lionel had planned for them today. No doubt Lee was involved if Gen had gone out with him so willingly.

But at least it wasn't like it had been in Bishop. Nothing would ever be like Bishop. They weren't alone, isolated, from the world and everyone they cared about. The week they had arrived back in New York, Reese and Zoe threw them a welcome home dinner. Everyone Root had left behind, had missed during those long, hellish months in Bishop, had been there.

Everyone, except Shaw.

And it had been nice. It had been fun. Root laughed and talked and listened to Fusco whine about his job (still with a loving twinkle in his eye). Listened to Daniel detail his recovery, Harold's future plans for the nanotech company (and it never occurred to her that night that his future plans meant her).

It had been the first time in a long time that Root had felt she was finally back somewhere she belonged. It was a light, warm feeling, like drinking hot coco while wrapped up in a cosy blanket on a cold winter's evening. She had tried to hold onto that feeling for the rest of the night, and after, in the days to come. But it hadn't lasted. It never lasted. The laughter, the feeling of belonging, it was tainted. Tainted because Shaw wasn't there and Root couldn't shake the feeling, the fear, that she would never get to see her again, that they had missed their chance.

*

The dull buzzing vibration of the cell phone in her hand pulled Root from her reverie. She was sitting cross legged on her bed, the phone plugged into the outlet at the bed’s right side. She couldn't remember turning it on. But now that she had, she couldn't hide from the numerous messages and missed calls Shaw had left. So many. Something stirred in her heart, a fluttering so faint she couldn't tell if it was pain or something else entirely.

Her thumb flicked through the messages of its own accord, eyes drinking in each word, each plea Shaw had left. In typical Sameen Shaw fashion, they were short and blunt. Perhaps anger floated hidden beneath each one, perhaps concern. And, despite each one being ignored, Shaw hadn’t given up trying.

More of the irritating buzzing, the screen flashing to tell her someone was calling. Not someone.  _ Sameen. _

The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. Root’s ear seemed to tingle with static, as if she could really feel the Machine checking up on her, watching and waiting to tell all her secrets. Just her imagination, though. Just the blood rushing through her body.

“Hey.” She was breathless, too quiet and she wasn't sure her voice would carry over the 2000 miles to Texas. “Been awhile.”

“Yeah,” said Shaw and inside Root something fragmented, scattering pieces of herself as carelessly as someone scattered sand on a beach. It was  _ Shaw. _ It sounded like her; low and raspy and deadly and uniquely Sameen, but there was also a change to her now. Root didn't know what it was, but she sensed it with each word Shaw spoke, with each heavy breath that travelled through their frail connection.

“I'm surprised you answered this time.”

“Yeah,” said Root. She was surprised too. It hurt to hear Shaw’s voice, knowing she was so far away and she closed her eyes to savour the feel of it.

“I'm glad,” said Shaw.

Root smiled faintly. She heard the unspoken words, the ones Shaw could never say, but they were there all the same. They always were. Even if Shaw didn't know it, Root could sense them like her body had developed the instinct in response to losing the hearing in her right ear.  _ I’ve missed you. _

“Are you-”

“What-”

Silence followed their clumsy words, but it was enough for Root just to know that Shaw was there. She didn't mind the quiet. The implant in her ear picked up the sounds of New York on the other side of the window: traffic roaring and people yelling, the squawk of pigeons as they flew up into the sky in search of somewhere new to scavenge food, the screeching brakes of a bus stopping to pick up more passengers. Root shut off her implant and the silence was complete. For a little while, she could close her eyes and pretend it was just her and Sameen. That the breathing she could hear in her good ear was  _ right there  _ brushing hotly against the sensitive skin of her neck. She could pretend that the miles didn't exist between them and that the words  _ I can't do this anymore _ weren't hot her lips, burning to get out.

“Root,” Sameen eventually said, with a heaviness that had so much meaning. Root stiffened, knowing there was more ready to spill from Shaw’s lips, knowing that they would never come because it wasn't Shaw’s way. It had never been. So she was surprised when the words “I'm so sorry” tumbled from Shaw’s mouth, through the phone and into Root’s ear with the force of rocks falling from a cliff, heedless of whatever waited below.

There was no more than that. There didn't have to be. The words, the apology, so hard for Shaw to speak, sounding so strange coming from her, was more real and true than anything Root had ever known.

“I know,” she said and closed her eyes, remembering that last day in Texas, remembering saying goodbye. It had hurt so much and she had refused to let it show, refused to use her emotions to manipulate Sameen into making a choice she wasn't ready for. “I am too.” Although for what, she wasn't sure. Everything. Always everything.

“Can we-” Shaw began.

“Yes,” said Root. She would give Shaw anything, forgive anything. Forget their stupid fights as if they had never happened at all.

And just like that, some of the tension left Root. Her grip on the phone loosened slightly and she leaned back against the pillows, stretched her legs out in front her and wiggled her toes to get the feeling back into them.

“Shouldn't you be working?” Root asked. There was something about the idea of Shaw calling her in the middle of her workday that warmed Root inside.

“Nah,” said Shaw. “Day off.”

“Oh,” said Root with a smile that betrayed the playfulness of her tone. “Any fun plans?”

“Not yet. Any ideas?”

Root could think of a few. Most of them involved a significant lack of clothes.

As if Shaw could sense where her mind had just went, she asked, “What are you wearing?”

Root swallowed hard. It wasn't the question so much as the husky growl of Shaw’s voice that had heat rushing through her body. It all pooled in one place; a pleasant burn that left Root wanting to groan.

She glanced down at herself; at the faded jeans and t-shirt with the hole in the hem that nobody noticed as long as she kept her jacket on over it. Nothing fancy. Certainly nothing sexy. Her stupid socks had cartoon robots on them. Definitely not the image she wanted to portray at that moment.

“Nothing,” Root lied with a grin. “I just got out of the shower when you called.”

She had no idea if Shaw believed her or if she could hear through the feeble lie. It didn't matter. Right now, they were both playing the game and Root would believe anything Shaw told her without hesitation.

“No towel?” Shaw asked, her voice as deep and low as the darkest parts of the ocean.

“Too hot for that.”

There was a sound through the phone that was almost indistinguishable. Somewhere between a groan or a whine. “I'll bet,” said Shaw faintly.

Root smirked. She was enjoying this and soon her brain would struggle to form words as the heat built up inside her. But, for now, coherent sentences still flowed from her lips, teasing and caressing Shaw in the only way she could when they were so far apart.

“Mhm,” said Root. Shaw had started this, so she could hardly blame Root for taking it further. Root’s voice was like silk, almost a purr. A sound that had once ignited something primal in Shaw and had ended in pain and pleasure for the both of them. They were apart now and the pain was all too real, but perhaps, Root hoped, they could get some pleasure from it despite all that.

Free hand hovering over the button of her jeans, Root growled out a command. “Whatever you're wearing, take it off.”

“I would love to, but…”

Root didn't get to find out but what. A loud knocking on the apartment front door had her hand jerking away and she stiffened. Listening, hoping she had misheard. Another knock, more insistent this time, impatient. It had Gen written all over it and Root cursed her timing while at the same time glad she seemed to have forgotten her keys. The last thing she wanted was Gen walking in on her…

“Hang on,” she mumbled into the phone and climbed up from the bed, leaving the sheets rumpled and warm. She pressed the phone back to her ear when she reached the door. “It’s just…”

The door open, but her hand felt numb on the handle as she stared, mouth open. She had to blink a few times to convince herself of what she was seeing.

Sameen Shaw. At her door, with a phone in her hand and a smirk on her face.

“Shaw…” It came out like a sound whispered on the wind and caught in Root’s throat. “What-”

_ What are you doing here? _

But she couldn't ask the question. She feared too much that the image in front of her would disappear if she questioned it too closely.

Dark eyes scanned her up and down, deliberately slow. Analysing, sucking in every detail. Root felt her skin tingling unpleasantly under the scrutiny, curious about the darkness in Sameen’s eyes. It was different from the last time she had seen her in Texas. Shaw was different. Something had changed. Something had brought Sameen to her door. Unannounced, but most definitely wanted this time.

The darkness seemed to fade a little, although Root had to wonder if the quizzical raise of an eyebrow, the twitching of lips to suppress a grin, was all just a mask. Artificial light to banish the darkness.

“Well, that's disappointing,” said Shaw. A hand reached out to Root, Shaw’s fingers immediately finding the hole in the hem of her t-shirt and worrying at it. She looked like she was tempted to tear the whole thing off.

“What-” said Root again. She could feel Sameen’s hand at her side. So warm, so real. She wasn't imagining this. No way her brain could come up with details so vivid.

So many nights she had pretended Shaw had come with them when they had left Texas. In the dark, it was always easy for her to pretend that Sameen was just beyond the shadows, still and quiet and waiting. It was only when she reached out a hand to the cold and empty stretch of bed that the illusion was shattered.

This one didn't break and Sameen didn’t disappear when Root grabbed the hand still playing with the hole in her t-shirt. She felt real alright. Solid, warm. Smelled like Sameen too. Gunpowder and off-brand soap and something else entirely unique, entirely Sameen.

Root tugged on the hand she was holding and Sameen complied, moving towards her while kicking the door shut with a boot.

“Hi,” said Shaw, like she was the one surprised to be here.

“Hi.” Root didn't smile. She didn't have to. Didn't have to say anything more either. They had said all the had to over the phone. The reason why Shaw had probably called first. It was easier to speak truths when they didn't have to look one another in the eye.

And then her lips were on Sameen’s and it was as if Texas had never happened, as if they had never spent a year apart. Root felt whole again, like the missing piece of a puzzle had finally been found and slotted back into place where it belonged, the picture complete.

Hands roved her body, tugged at her hair and Sameen pulled her close, curving Root’s lanky body until it was pressed tightly against her own. Root could feel the hardness of Shaw’s muscles, the softness of her curves, the warmth of her skin beneath the clothes that she wore - all black, as usual. _Too many_ _clothes._ Root wanted to tear them off and reach the flesh beneath, watch as her fingernails scratched across smooth skin, feel the arousal as blood welled up. Sameen’s blood, her life. Mingle it with her own until they became one, until the pain and the pleasure was all that they were.

Root pushed and Shaw didn't resist, only let out a small groan as her head and back thudded against the closed door.

“Root-” Shaw mumbled incoherently; a protest halfhearted at best. Her hands had stilled; one on Root’s hip, the other tangled in her hair, a thumb tickling the side of Root’s chin.

Root closed her eyes and kept on kissing her. If she stopped, if she looked at Shaw… she was frightened of what she would see. She didn't want to know the truth of why Shaw had come back. She was here now and that was all that mattered.

She heard the click of the lock, but it was a far off sound as her mind focused on other things, as her blood rushed around her body and heated all the right places. Root realised too late that the door was opening - or trying to. There was a heavy shove that offset Root’s balance as she clung to Sameen, a surprised exclamation from the other side that pulled Root and Shaw apart. Shaw swore. There was blood on her lip and Root could taste coppery tang of it on her tongue.

“Why won't the stupid door open?” Gen growled. Root heard a thud that sounded suspiciously like a sneaker against wood.

“Great timing,” Shaw muttered with an eyeroll as she stepped aside and wiped the blood from her mouth.

Root opened the door to let Gen in. Several explanations floated through her mind, but she knew none of them would be good enough to convince Gen.

“We were just…” Root began, but she faltered when she realised Gen wasn't listening to her. Instead, she was staring past Root, the ugliest and angriest look on her face that Root had ever seen. “Gen-”

Gen stormed past them both and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. The force of it rang out through the apartment, making Root flinch.

“Sorry, she just…” But Root had no words to explain. Gen was angry and grieving and traumatised and Shaw was the easiest person to take it out on.

“I know,” said Shaw. She looked from Gen’s closed door back to Root, her eyes dark once again. There was so much hidden in that darkness, Root thought, so much she couldn't read. She had tried to keep the extent of Gen’s moods light over phone -  back when Root had been calling daily just to find that tiny bit of connection to Shaw - but she suspected Sameen had known the truth. That Gen wasn't okay, wasn't acting like a typical teenager. And that Root had no idea what to do.

“Hey,” said Shaw gently, as the overwhelming consequences of what had happened swarmed across Root’s face like a bee swarm in a hive. She took Root’s hand. She felt warm and rough against Root’s palm and she held on tight, afraid to let go. “We’ll get through this.”

_ We. _ It sounded all very united. Team Root and Shaw, together again.

“So you're staying?” Root asked and braced herself for the answer. What if this was just a flying visit and Shaw already had a return ticket back to Texas?

Sameen watched her carefully with those dark eyes, like she was trying to tell Root something without having to use words. Root looked away.

“If you’ll have me,” said Shaw.

The answer was obvious, and yet Root hesitated. The truth she had been hiding felt bitter on her tongue. She wanted to spill it all, rinse the taste from her mouth, but she couldn't. She couldn't do it to Sameen, do it to  _ them. _

“Yes,” said Root and kissed Shaw lightly on the lips as if everything was okay. “I'll have you.”

*

Later, Root went to get out takeout for dinner. She got all of Shaw’s and Gen’s favourites and ended up coming home with two heavy bags full of food. Enough to feed a family of six for several days, but Root knew the likelihood of Shaw and Gen making their way through most of it in one night would be high. It wouldn't be the first time.

Struggling with the bags, Root let herself into the apartment. Stood on the threshold for a moment, staring at the empty living room, the half closed door to the kitchen. It felt different now. Root and Gen had moved in several weeks ago and since then it hadn't felt quite right. Hadn't felt like home.

Nowhere had, not for a long time. But as Root gazed at Sameen’s abandoned boots by the couch, she thought that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

No one came to greet her at the door and relieve her of her burden. Root stilled, listening; the apartment silent apart from the dull thuds of her neighbour’s footsteps in the apartment above, the flow of water through the pipes as someone flushed a toilet in another part of the building. If it wasn't for Shaw’s boots lying out in the open, Root would have believed Shaw had gone, that she had never been here at all. That the kiss and the home coming were all just a dream. Then she heard the soft murmur of Shaw’s voice and she smiled. A sad and small one, but it reassured her all the same.

The smell of food hadn't brought the other two running so Root quietly placed the bags of food on the floor by the kitchen door and crept towards the sound of Shaw’s voice.

The main part of the apartment - the living room and the hallway leading to the two bedrooms and bathroom - was an L-shape. Root stopped at the corner and peered around for a look. Shaw was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall next to Gen’s door with her legs stretched out in front of her. She looked like she had been there for a while and she didn't seem to notice Root hovering in the shadows, where the natural light from the window couldn't quite reach.

“Okay, you won't talk to me,” Shaw was saying  “But you can listen.”

There was no response from inside Gen’s room and Root wondered, biting at her bottom lip, how long Shaw had been trying to coax her out of the room. Root had been gone almost an hour and it looked like Shaw had made very little progress.

“I know you hate me for staying in Texas,” said Shaw, still oblivious to Root’s presence, “and you should. What I did sucked. I was dumb and stupid… I stayed for all the wrong reasons. I thought- I thought I was doing the right thing. That I could somehow… I dunno, take some of the darkness away if I wasn't here.”

There was still no response but, somehow, Root knew Gen would be listening. It wasn't often Shaw talked like this or this much and even a teenager, as angry as she was, would know that.

“So you’re angry, and I get that. I get how easy it is to be angry. For a long time, I was angry too. Angry at moving around a lot as a kid, angry at my dad dying. Angry for being different. But after a while… it gets tiring, kid. You start to wonder what's the point. That maybe you’re using that anger as a shield, to hide from the truth. You’re angry. At your father for all he did. You mom for leaving you and dying. Me… for leaving you too.”

Shaw paused, staring at her hands as they rested on her thighs and Root, hidden as she was, saw just a lost she looked. None of this was easy for her. Finding the words, speaking them aloud. It was taking everything Shaw had just to keep going.

“Being angry though… focusing on all that bad stuff. You start to miss the good stuff. I don't want you to miss all that good stuff, kiddo. Not because of me or him. You deserve better than that. It hurts and it's hard.” And once again Shaw paused for a moment. This time her eyes roved upwards, met Root’s and held her gaze. She had known Root was there the entire time, listening. These words weren't just for Gen. “But you’re not alone.”

Her eyes began to sting but Root couldn't look away, couldn't move.  _ Why did you come back?  _ she wanted to ask, but couldn't. Wouldn't. Not yet.

The door handle to Gen’s room turned, the door creaking slowly open to reveal Gen and her wild mane of blonde hair.  _ When did she get so tall? _ Root wondered. It felt like Gen had grown half a foot taller since Texas. She wasn't a kid anymore. There was something in the way she held herself, straight but still carrying that heavy burden of all that had happened to her. Texas and Volkov had taken away whatever had remained of her childhood and Root knew she could never get it back.

“I'm hungry,” said Gen.

The statement was so Gen, so normal after everything they had been through, that Root could only laugh.

“I got takeout.”

“Nice.” Gen skipped out of her room with a smile and, for a moment, she was that cheeky kid again who wanted nothing more than to be a spy, find somewhere she belonged. Root tried to hold onto that image, seal it and protect it forever. But Gen was already frowning and she glanced down at Shaw who hadn't moved from her position on the floor. “I'm still going to be mad at you for a while.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Shaw and didn't look like this bothered her in the slightest. All was not forgiven, not yet. But it would come in time.

Gen disappeared in search of food. Root listened to her footsteps, the clatter of dishes as she grabbed plates and forks. And Shaw still didn't move, didn't look away from Root.

“When did you get so wise?” Root asked to fill the silence. She didn't anticipate getting an answer.

“I did a lot of thinking in Texas.” There was that darkness in her eyes again and Root had to look away. “Root-”

“You hungry?” She looked at Shaw sharply, could feel the words as they tried to push their way out of Shaw, could see them swirling in the darkness of her eyes.  _ Not yet, _ Root’s own eyes pleaded and Shaw listened.

“Starving,” said Shaw instead and the darkness lifted, just for a little while.

“Good.” She reached out a hand. Shaw took it and pulled herself up, her eyes never leaving Root. “Welcome home, Sameen,” said Root and tugged Shaw towards the kitchen.


	55. Part 4: Chapter 55

Shaw glanced at her list, ignored the messily scrawled additions that were Gen’s, and decided they had done more than enough for the day.

Back to school shopping wasn't exactly her favourite thing. It wasn't Gen’s either, but the end of summer was fast approaching and neither of them could avoid it much longer. Shaw tried to be encouraging, let Gen splash out on ridiculously overpriced pens and a new backpack she didn't actually need. New things to go with a new start. Although to Gen, it must have felt like just another stop along the way. It had been years since she had actually completed a whole semester at the one school.

Shaw knew the feeling. The uncertainty that came with knowing school and home were only temporary until it was time to move on again. It hadn't been so bad for her, but for Gen… it was hard and lonely and too much had happened for her to trust that this was it. This was for real this time.

And it wasn't like Shaw could promise nothing would ever change again. It would. It was as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning.

They bought pretzels and headed home; Gen’s dripping with chocolate sauce that left a trail in their wake as they walked to the subway. Shaw ate hers silently and tried not to be obvious about watching Gen. Back a day and of course Gen had yet to let the anger go. She was still mad and Shaw was doing everything she could to prove she was sticking around this time. After Texas and Volkov, her protective instincts were in overdrive and she had barely let Gen out of her sight since getting back.

But Gen was fine, or at least on track to being fine and Shaw knew it. She didn’t need to be overprotective and fussy, but the person she really wanted to protect wasn’t ready for it yet.

Shaw sighed. Root still didn’t know that she knew and the weight of the secret hung between them like lead filled rocks had filled their pockets and were sinking them down, down until they drowned.

“You know,” said Gen and Shaw was glad for the interruption to her thoughts, “homeschooling is becoming more and more popular these days.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure hacking and how to handle a gun aren’t on the list for a well-rounded education.”

“You could teach me other stuff,” said Gen. “How to fix people; suturing and stuff.” She made a little waving motion with her hand, stitching up the empty air. “You know, all that practical stuff.”

“You still wanna be a spy?”

It was an ambition Gen hadn’t displayed in a while. Shaw couldn’t remember the last time she had caught Gen trying to eavesdrop or found one of her not so carefully hidden bugs.

“Nah.” Gen looked at the ground as they walked, as if she were too embarrassed to look Shaw in the eye. “That whole thing was dumb kid stuff.”

“And you're not a kid anymore,” said Shaw. But, she thought, in her eyes, Gen would always be that ten year old kid she had rescued from drug dealers. That kid who had easily made her as Shaw stalked her through the streets, who had recorded everything incriminating in her apartment building and kept it carefully hidden.

Gen shrugged. “I like drawing, I guess… I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide anything right now, kiddo,” said Shaw. “Just be you.”

“Go to school, behave, pretend to be normal.” Gen rolled her eyes sullenly and her annoyance at Shaw, at everything, was suddenly back.

Shaw pressed her lips together. The road ahead was a long one, but Shaw would travel it with her. She had decided that in Texas. She had decided a lot of things in Texas.

“Normal’s for losers,” said Shaw after a while and that got a smile out of Gen as she gobbled up the remainders of her pretzel.

The subway was hot and crowded. They ended up pressed against the doors, Gen’s elbow wedge uncomfortably in Shaw’s side, some guy reeking of weed in front of her, shifting nervously on his feet and stepping on Shaw’s toes more than once. The one thing she hadn't missed about New York; the way people invaded her space because there simply wasn’t enough room. There was none of that in Bishop. The town was small but the people few. They had all known who she was - or thought they did, at least. Here, in the big city crammed with millions of people she was anonymous, invisible. She blended into the crowd and took Gen with her, keeping her away from harm. Keeping her safe.

They reached their stop. Shaw kept a hand on Gen as they made their way up to the street. She gulped down the cool fresh air, glad to be out of the stifling subway. They walked the last few blocks back to the apartment and Shaw’s thoughts floated back to Root, as they always did.

At first, Root had seemed happy - almost dazedly so - to see her. But after dinner she became withdrawn again and pulled away from her, from Gen too and had been quick with an excuse not to join them today, telling Shaw some alone time with Gen would be good for them. Shaw didn't believe it. Easily she recalled those darker days in Texas, when Root was barely keeping her head above water. She had been hiding this secret then too, fighting it on her own. But how was Shaw supposed to tell her she wasn't in this alone without making it worse? 

She didn't know.

There was a reason Root hadn't told her; maybe she just couldn't face it, couldn't face Shaw knowing everything and treating her differently.

“Why did you come back?”

Shaw blinked at the question, startled. She glanced at Gen, but she was staring at her feet as they scuffed along the sidewalk.

It was a question she had been expecting, as was,  _ Why did you stay?  _ That one wasn’t easy to answer. Her reasons for coming back, though… The moment she laid her eyes on Root’s file, she had known she couldn't stay in Bishop anymore.

But she couldn't say that to Gen. It wasn't her secret to tell and Gen had been through more than enough lately. Shaw wanted to protect her from it, from that truth. A truth so harsh and final and inevitable. None of them could hide from it forever, but Shaw could at least save Gen from it for just a little while longer.

“Because the people I care about needed me,” said Shaw. She hadn’t meant to say it, but there it was.

“Oh,” was all Gen said and remained quiet until they reached the apartment building.

Shaw still didn't have her own key yet so Gen had to let them in. She shoved all her purchases in Shaw’s arms and fished in her pockets for the key. She took her sweet time and Shaw felt the muscles in her arms strain with the weight and with annoyance. As soon as the door was open and Gen moved out of the way Shaw dumped the bags on the floor with a grunt of relief. With Gen’s erratic education over the last couple of years and her less than stellar grades at Lhars Junior High, Shaw had insisted on buying more textbooks than a kid Gen’s age would ever need or want. This time around, Shaw was determined to make sure Gen didn't half ass things. If she had to sit all night every night and study with her, she would.

She straightened. And stumbled right into Gen.

“What-” Shaw began, but then she saw what had Gen frozen on the spot. Her heart began to speed up wildly and she had to stop herself from doing something impulsive, had to swallow back some emotion that was stronger than anything she had experienced before as her stomach seemed to lurch away from her, pulling at her feet, making Shaw wonder how she was still standing. How she wasn’t face planted on the ground.

On the couch, Root sat with a knife in her hand. Her eyes were red around the edges, her face ashen. Steady hands trailed the knife along and up her wrist, not hard enough to pierce the skin. Not yet.

“Go to your room.” Shaw’s voice was barely a croak; she was too alarmed to speak any louder. 

“But-”

“Shut the door, put your headphones in and don't come out until I tell you to.”

One last fearful look towards Root and Gen nodded. Her steps were careful, like she didn't want to be noticed and yet in her haste she reached her room before Shaw could even shut the front door.

Slowly, Shaw moved towards Root. Her eyes never left the knife, mesmerized by the way it moved across Root’s skin, smooth as silk. She kept her distance even though all of her instincts were screaming at her to go for the knife, to get it as far away from Root as possible. But she knew Root, had seen her fight. Had trained her in countless motel rooms until each movement was an art form. No matter how fast Shaw pounced on the knife, Root would be quicker. Her arms were tensed up as if she were expecting it and Shaw couldn’t take the risk.

“You know, don’t you?” Root looked at her with bloodshot eyes. Her voice was oddly calm, considering everything.

Shaw could only nod. Words caught in a her throat, her tongue tangled up in her mouth and she couldn't speak even if she had a clue what to say.

“Is that why you came back? Out of pity?”

“No.” But how to explain, exactly, why? Shaw felt like every sound she made, every word uttered, dug that knife in just a little deeper. The point scratched along the flesh of Root’s wrist, leaving a thin pink line, raw and inflamed. Shaw couldn't tear her eyes away from it.

“Did  _ She _ tell you?” 

Shaw shook her head. “I found your Bishop clinic file.”

She remembered it so clearly.  _ Congestive heart failure. _ Every single word. The diagnosis, the medication Root was on. She had stared at it for so long it had imprinted on her brain forever.

“Knew I shoulda gone out of town,” said Root. The knife stilled in her hand and she stared at it as if surprised to see it there. “I only went the once. Needed a new prescription.  _ She  _ made me.”

“Root,” said Shaw slowly. At the mention of the Machine, Root’s grip had tightened on the knife again. “What are you doing?”

Root looked up at her and Shaw saw the fear, the confusion, in the wetness of her eyes.

“I don’t know,” said Root, her voice finally cracking. “Do you know what it's been like, waiting around to die? I just… I just need some control back. I need to take control.”

Shaw stepped forward cautiously. When Root didn’t flinch away from her she took another step until she was right in front of her. She took the knife gingerly from Root’s hand, but Root made no sudden moves to get it back. “This isn't the way.”

"Then what is?" Root snapped and Shaw had no answer for her. "You can't fix this, Shaw."

_ No, _ Shaw thought, _ but I can try. I  _ need  _ to try.  _ There was still a chance. Even out of the current medical research loop, Shaw knew that. But she said none of this. She couldn't. She didn't think there was anything she could say that would convince Root how much she wanted to help her. She didn't know how. Neither of them did. And the knife felt suddenly heavy and cold in Shaw's hand. She could understand how easy this choice would be for Root. All that pain, all the regret and remorse in her life... there was only so much of it she could hold. And there was nowhere for the excess to go. Root held it all and it weighed her down, overwhelmed her. This knife with its sharp, uncaring blade could cut her open with ease, could let all the pain, all the bad stuff, fall out. She could let go, finally, fully. She could stop fighting.

"You can't give up," said Shaw. "That's not you. I know you, and you keep fighting, no matter what."

"Not anymore." Root looked at her like she thought it was going to be the last time she would ever see Shaw. Shaw couldn't stand it. "I can't keep fighting. Maybe... Maybe this is what is supposed to happen."

"That's bullshit," said Shaw and she didn't care how angry she sounded. She  _ was  _ angry. Angry and scared and now she didn't care if Root knew it.

"It doesn't matter anyway."

"It matters to  _ me." _ She was almost yelling now and she was glad she had told Gen to keep her headphones in. There was no guarantee the kid had done what she was told, Shaw could only hope that she had. This was too much. Too much for them all and Shaw wanted to spare Gen from it as much as she could. There was already so much pain in her life, in all their lives. Root's most of all.

Everything was so out of control, so uncertain. Root could take that control back with one final, fatal decision. And that would be it. It would be over. Root would be gone and it wouldn't matter what and who was left behind. It wouldn't matter that she still had so much left to fight for.

And that was what made Shaw angry most of all. That Root could be so willing to give up after everything they had been through. After she had left, spent a year alone hunting for Jason Greenfield, before coming back, before they found each other again. How could she leave Gen after all the promises she had made? How could she leave  _ Shaw? _

And she heard it then. The song that played in her head whenever she was around Root. The song, once so faint, nothing but a quiet hum that had become louder and more distinct over the years. In Bishop, in that quiet Texas town, it had been so  _ loud. _ But it had been distorted somehow; by the uncertainty of where they were, of what could happen to Gen. Of what could happen to  _ them. _

But now she could hear it clearly. She knew the beat of it, every note. It filled her up and gave her meaning again, a purpose that she had been lost without. It pulled her back home to Root. It spilled the first tears from her eyes. Now, it gently eased the words to the tip of Shaw's tongue, made them so easy to say, made them true. Because they were true. Shaw knew that now like she should have known it all along. And she did, in a way. In her own special way. They just never seemed necessary before, those words. But now... Now Root needed to hear them, hear that song, that symphony that played in her head, in her heart and her whole being. Root needed to understand, to believe. To know what she would be leaving behind. She needed this reason to hold on, to keep fighting.

She said the words and they didn't sound forced and false like they had so many times before. She felt as sure of them as she had ever been about anything in her life.

She could remember words spoken to her in a breath of desperation. Words that were meant to be the last. But Root had survived the gunshot in her leg and the words had lingered between them ever since.

_ I love you. _

And now here they were again. Once more those three words echoed in Shaw's ears. Once more she wondered if hearing them was a mistake. Root could only stare at her, saying nothing and Shaw could see the doubt in her eyes, the anger and the pain.

It was too late to take the words back, even if Shaw had wanted to. And she didn't want to, she found. To deny them now, after everything, wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair to Root or to herself. But she couldn't stand the silence for much longer, couldn't read the look in Root's eyes without wanting to bail.

"I have to take care of Gen," said Shaw and her voice felt hollow now, empty. Like after  _ those _ words everything else she said had no meaning anymore. "Are you... Are you going to be okay?"

It was a dumb question, but Shaw still needed an answer. Needed to know that Root wouldn't do something drastic the moment Shaw was out of the room. She waited and, after a beat, Root nodded. It wasn't very convincing, but a quick sweep of the room with her eyes told Shaw there was nothing immediate that Root could use to harm herself. She stepped into the kitchen but left the door open, kept her senses piqued for any sign of movement from Root.

Silence. Stillness.

Shaw shoved the knife in a drawer, then lay both palms flat against the countertop, breathing heavily with her head bowed. Her heart was racing and it wasn't until the quiet, until she was out of sight of Root, that she allowed herself to feel it.

Deep breaths. Shaw closed her eyes and all she could see was Root. See the knife, see and feel the warm blood on her hands too late to do anything to stop it. But there had been no blood. Root was still alive, still breathing, still drowning in pain. The kitchen felt too bright when she opened her eyes. She wanted darkness to consume her. Wanted the summer sun to fizzle out and stop spreading its heat over every inch of the city, making her skin slick with sweat. She longed for the cold of winter, for a breeze that would make her skin shiver, make her remember her body's capacity for fighting nature.

She was in hell. They all were. Root most of all.

Every extinct told her to run. To go back to that lone wolf lifestyle she used to live by. But it wasn't until she thought about it now that she realised that had never been true. Shaw had never truly been alone. When she was a kid her parents had been there; and after the accident, even though  Mâmân was lost and hurting, she was still there. Always there. All the way through high school and college, through med school and her failed residency. She could remember clearly the arguments when she had followed her father's footsteps and joined the Marines.  Mâmân hadn't wanted her to, but Sameen couldn't be swayed. She was already gone - dead and buried at a quiet funeral Shaw didn't attend - when the ISA recruited her. She no longer had a team of soldiers at her side watching her back, but there had been Cole, the quiet and reliable partner that suited her just fine.

But he had died too. They all did. And soon Root-

_ No.  _ That was a long way off. Inevitable, but not imminent. Not if Shaw had a say in it. Not if Root found forgiveness and started to take care of herself. There were still options and, in time, Root would be ready to hear them.

Shaw pushed herself away from the counter. She wouldn't allow the racing of her heart, the adrenaline in her blood, to take over and make her do something stupid. She was sticking around. That decision had already been made in Texas and nothing would change Shaw's mind. She had to deal with Gen first, then she would take care of Root. She still wasn't sure how. It was a long, hard battle ahead, but she could handle it. She had to.

A quick phone call made in a hushed voice. Still no sounds from Root in the living room. When she was done and slipping the phone back into her pocket, Shaw peeked through the crack in the door. Root was where she had left her. On the couch and staring at nothing. Or maybe just at the ghosts that haunted her. Maybe she was replaying what Shaw had blurted out over and over again, trying to make sense of it.  _ I love you.  _ She closed her eyes and shook her head and all she could see was the shock on Root's face. She didn't believe her. And why would she? Sometimes Shaw wasn't sure she believed it herself.

She stepped through the door and still Root didn't move. Shaw took one last long glance at her before heading for Gen's room. The door was shut, she was glad to see and she knocked lightly on it as she opened it. She was even more relieved to find Gen had done exactly what Shaw had told her. Headphones in her ears. The music so loud that Shaw could hear it from the other side of the room.

"What's going on?" Gen pulled the headphones off and sat up hurriedly.

"Pack a bag. Outdoor stuff."

"Outdoor stuff?" said Gen, her face twisted in confusion.

"You have ten minutes."

"But-"

Shaw swung the door shut behind her and a beat later she heard Gen moving around her room.  _ Good.  _ She wasn't ready to explain yet. Not to Gen. Not to anyone. They would have to, eventually and it would be hard. Harder for Gen than it was ever going to be for her. But not right now. Right now, she needed time alone with Root.

Ten minutes later, not a second more or less, Gen appeared from her room with a backpack stuffed full of clothes. With difficulty, she was trying to ram her laptop into the remaining space, but could barely get it halfway in let alone zip up the backpack.

"You won't need that," said Shaw.

"But what if I want to Google something?"

"That's what cellphones are for. Besides, where you're going," said Shaw, biting back a small smirk as the look on Gen's face went from annoyed to alarmed in the space of a heartbeat, "there isn't any WiFi."

"Where am I going?" asked Gen. "What kind of place doesn't have WiFi?"

Not answering, Shaw took Gen by the elbow and led her out of the apartment. They past Root, still on the couch, still motionless. Not even aware of them as Shaw nudged Gen through the door. Shaw shot one last look at her before shutting the door, hoping Root would meet her gaze, would smile reassuringly. Say something. Anything.

She didn't. Of course she didn't.

"I'll be right back," Shaw muttered, but she never knew if Root heard her or not.

Out in the hall, Gen was staring at her stubbornly with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"You going to be a problem?" Shaw asked, knowing it wasn't fair to Gen. Wasn't fair to keep the truth from her after everything, wasn't fair to shut her out like this and pass her off onto someone else. Let the kid be someone else's problem for a few days. But that wasn't it, no matter how it looked, and Shaw wasn't sure how to tell Gen that without blurting out everything.

"You going to tell me what's going on?"

Shaw glanced at the door, at the apartment heavy with silence. She liked to think the silence was good. That Root still hadn't moved. Hadn't done anything stupid.

"Not yet," said Shaw, turning back to Gen. "I need you to trust me."

Gen frowned, considering. It was a heavy frown that put wrinkles that didn't belong on her youthful face. "But I'm coming back, right? This isn't-"

"Kiddo," said Shaw, taking Gen by the shoulders and only realising now just how much taller she had become, how much she had grown up. "Of course you're coming back. I just need- Root needs... I don't know, but this isn't something you should have to deal with."

_ Not after everything. Not after Texas. _

"I'm not a kid anymore." And she shrugged off Shaw's hands to prove her point; held her head up high, straightened her shoulders.

No, definitely not a kid. She had seen and done too much to ever get that childlike innocence back. It tore something inside of Shaw that it had to be this way, left a dull ache to remind her of her failure to end Volkov in Moscow like she had always meant to.

"Just humour me, okay?"

Gen glanced at the apartment and Shaw didn't follow her gaze. She didn't think her resolve would hold if she looked back one more time.

"Fine," said Gen, although she didn't sound fine about it at all. Shaw had no words to reassure her, no gestures of comfort. Gen was too old for that now and wouldn't appreciate it anyway. _ I'm not a kid anymore. _

It was still summer outside. Hot and bright. Shaw blinked at the light, felt her skin burn unpleasantly. It had been so cold in the apartment - ice cold with uncertainty - that it had penetrated Shaw's skin, her blood, her bones, until she was cold inside too. Frozen solid so that not even the hottest summer day could thaw her out.

They met Lionel Fusco on the sidewalk outside their building. He had parked illegally next to a fire hydrant and was scowling as they approached. Shaw glanced inside his car. The back was crammed full of stuff, blocking the windows. Tents, sleeping bags, mobile cooking equipment... everything a person would need for a weekend of camping.

"You're lucky you called when you did," said Fusco. "I was still in the city. Thirty minutes later and I wouldn't have turned back, not even for you." But he gave her a look that was all concern. When it came to Gen and favours being asked of him, he had a right to be concerned after Texas.

"I appreciate this, Fusco," Shaw murmured, her eyes narrowing before he could comment on her sentiment. He must have read her look, or had just known her for long enough now, because he said nothing, just opened the back door of the car for Gen. With all the camping equipment, there wasn't much room for a person. Gen could squeeze in but it was going to be a tight fit.

Gen was glancing from the car to Lionel and finally at Shaw, a look of confusion on her face that quickly turned to horror as she realised where she would be spending her weekend.

"No."

"It's just a couple of days," said Shaw.

"C'mon," said Lionel, "it'll be fun. We'll make smores and Lee'll teach you how to fish."

From the front seat, hearing his name, Lee turned around and waved with an eager smile, not in the least bit perturbed by Gen gate crashing his father/son camping weekend.

"I don't wanna learn how to fish," said Gen stubbornly, looking at Shaw pleadingly with wide eyes.  _ Please let me stay, _ they seemed to say.  _ I'll be good. I'll stay out of the way. _ A child's plea that wasn't going to work, not on Shaw.

"You did say you wanted to learn some practical skills."

"So  _ not _ what I had in mind," Gen muttered. But she reluctantly got into the car, her legs pressed together tightly, side wedge against a camping tent pole, backpack on her knees because there was no space for it anywhere else. Lionel slammed the door on her scowl.

"This is my last weekend with Lee before school," he said pointedly.

"I know."

"You gonna tell me what's going on?"

"No."

He sighed, shook his head, but he had known this would be the case. It was always the case. Shaw would ask him for a favour and he would grumble and moan but he would do it. No questions asked. Always. Because she had saved his son's life and in Lionel Fusco's mind, that was a debt that could never be repaid.

"You call me if you need anything else," he said. "Not that I'll get a signal up at the lake, but you know what I mean."

Shaw nodded. She did. "Just keep her out of trouble."

"And how do I do that?" asked Lionel, opening the driver's door. He had left the engine running to keep the AC going and the kids were already fighting over the radio, arguing about what made a good road trip song.

"That I'm still trying to figure out," said Shaw.

She stayed on the sidewalk as they drove off, watching the car as it disappeared down the street and out of her sight.

Then she went back inside.

*

Feeling restless, she cooked. Large batches of meals that would last them for days. Kept frozen until the freezer was full and she had to store the rest in the refrigerator. Kept cooking until the cupboards were bare. She made noise and smells so delicious they made her mouth water. But the noise could never be loud enough to drown out her words  _ (I love you) _ and eventually the scent of her favourite foods only clawed their way inside of her, making her nauseous.

She was washing up when Root appeared behind her. Shaw sensed her with an instinct, not brought on by years of training this time, but instinct born from that pull she felt tugging her towards Root.

"Hey," said Shaw and put away the pot she was drying, tossed the dishcloth aside and shoved prune wrinkled hands into her pockets.

Root stared and said nothing.

"Fusco took Gen camping," she said, for lack of anything better to say. Root's eyes were still red-rimmed, but there was a fire to them now that burned as she looked at Shaw. "I figured it was better if-"

"I don't-"

"What?" said Shaw. The flash of anger flared more intense in Root's eyes for a moment. It made Shaw want to step back - her survival instincts warning her this was dangerous. If she kept going, she would be worse than burned. But there was nowhere for her to go and nowhere else she wanted to be.

Root took a heavy breath. "I don't need you to tell me what you think I want to hear."

_ I love you. _

"That's not-"

But Root was shaking her head, eyes brimming with water that doused some of the fire and only then did Shaw realise the impact of her words, the meaning lost by their unexpectedness. "Just don't."

"Root, listen to me." Shaw moved closer until she could feel the heat radiating from Root, could hear her shallow breaths, smell the shampoo she had used in the shower that morning. "That's not why I said it. I meant it."

"How?" asked Root. "You're..."

"I know," said Shaw. "I know what I am -  _ who _ I am. And, yeah, I don't experience things or feel in the same way as everybody else, but I also know I care about you. And I don't-" She took a deep breath, held it for a moment. Met Root's watery gaze. "I don't want you to die."

Her voice cracked at that last and perhaps that said more than any words she could have spoken. But Root's gaze still held disbelief and when Shaw reached out to her - with a hand that was always so sure and steady when it held a gun or a scalpel, now felt hesitant, uncertain - she grasped the empty air and Shaw watched as Root walked away.

*

The apartment grew dark. The flickering light from the TV illuminated the room, chasing some of the shadows away, causing some of them to dance across the face of the figure slouched on the couch.

Sameen Shaw slept. A restless, fitful sleep that conjured up nightmarish things - dreams vivid and filled with blood, anger and pain.

The tiniest creak of a floorboard caused her to stir; the sense of no longer being alone, being watched, flung her eyes open.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Sitting on the couch with the TV muted, she had watched the shifting images and tried not to think. Sleep had been a welcome relief when it turned out  _ not _ thinking was impossible.

"Root?" said Shaw, peering into the gloom. It had to be around 2 am, Shaw judged from the darkness outside. Root had shut herself in the bedroom hours ago, when it had still been light and the day clinged onto a tiny shred of hope.

There was no answer to her query. Shaw willed her sleepy eyes to adjust, to pick out the darker shadow that was Root amongst the black.

Anyone else would have been unnerved by the stillness, would have cowered at the thought of being seen but not able to see themselves. But not Sameen Shaw.

She reached for the remote to shut off the TV and, suddenly, there was Root in front of her. Materialising like a spectre, looming like Death himself. The ghost of Christmases past, present and future.

"What-"

Hands were on her face, her neck. Fingers brushing across her lips. And then Shaw felt the weight of Root straddling her lap, felt warm lips pressed on hers and wondered if she was still dreaming. Wondered if, in the moment just before her pleasure peaked, she would wake to the true nightmare that was their lives.

But this Root was real alright. Real and needy and warm. Her lips crashed against Shaw's like a battering ram at a castle door and her hands seemed to roam every inch of Shaw; the bare skin of her arms, up and under the T-shirt she wore until Root's nails were clawing possessively at Shaw's skin.

The heat of it dulled her mind, until all Shaw was aware of was the heart pumping in her chest, the throbbing bruises Root left behind. The lazy, heady state that felt like it was caused by a drug more than a person.

It was dangerous, that state. Shaw forgot herself, forgot where she was. Forgot everything.

In that moment, there was only Root. Only ever Root. And in that moment nothing could touch them, no one could hurt them.

Her hands moved without her meaning to; feeling every part of Root she could reach. The sharp point of her hip, the hardness of her spine, the smoothness of her skin. Shaw's fingertips trailed lazily across delicate flesh. Blank like fresh canvas until she met the unmistakable ridge of an old scar.

Their bodies were covered with them and some distant part of Shaw was sure that, if she could think straight, she would remember the story behind that particular scar. For she knew them all now, this scattered history of Root. A history that had left its marks on her skin so that neither of them would ever forget.

But not all scars could be seen, not all could be found by gentle probing fingertips. Shaw's hand left the scar on Root's back, moved round and up until her palm was flat against the beating of Root's heart.

It felt frantic to Shaw; wild like a caged animal fighting for freedom. Or a scared animal, alone and trapped and unsure of the way out.

Shaw pulled away, stared at her hand. Stared so hard like she was trying to see through the flesh and bone of her hand, see right into Root and that beating and broken heart. Maybe if she could see this scar, she could fix it. Although she knew that could never be, she still wished it more than anything.

"Sameen," said that soft, sad voice that was always in Shaw's head now. Always loud, always in time with the beating of her own heart. Part of her now and forever. "You  won't break me."

Root's eyes were clear, familiar. Determined. Shaw stared and felt all the anger and frustration and resentment from their time in Bishop, from that year apart, leave her; as if Root herself was pulling it out of her, relieving Shaw of this weight that had been holding her down, holding her back. Relieving it from them both.

Something in Root's eyes softened but, somehow, Shaw knew she was seeing her own eyes then, her reflection in Root's.

She nodded, too afraid to speak. As if any sudden noise she could make would shatter this moment and steal it from them. So she let Root take the lead, didn't protest as she removed Shaw's clothes and then her own. She felt Root's skin on hers, warm and soft and familiar.

Her back met the hard floor, the wooden surface cool against her heated flesh. She couldn't remember Root guiding her to the floor, but there she was, with Root so close, with Root touching her everywhere. She could focus on nothing but Root; the feel of her, her scent, the weight of her pressing down.

And then Root was touching her more deliberately, teasing out pleasure with confident and sure fingers that were made to be inside Shaw. A steady rhythm, the harsh rocking of Shaw's hips; each movement building up until-

Root slowed. Stopped. Ignored Shaw's frustrated groaning and rocking as she seeked the friction she so desperately wanted and needed.

She opened her eyes, met Root's gaze staring at her and swallowed at what she saw there. Love and sorrow and life and pain and everything that came in-between. Everything that was Root. Everything that was  _ them. _

"Say it," said Root and Shaw knew instantly what she meant, knew that to feign ignorance would undo all that they were, right now, in this moment.

So Shaw said her words again and meant it and felt them in her heart. They were a part of her. This small, precious part, locked up deep inside of her and meant only for Root. A part nobody else could touch, no one else could see.

And as Root touched her again, moved inside of her with a determined persistence, she felt the words cry out, a song only she could hear. But, somehow, she knew that Root could hear it now too. That melody that was theirs, a symphony performed just for them.

*

Later, Shaw fought desperately not to sleep; but the feel of Root in her arms, the warmth of her, the rightness of it all, lulled her to sleep.

She awoke with the sunrise, its rays piercing through the blinds and sending lines of light through the room, crossing over their bodies like a ribbon, tying them together forever. Shaw yawned and felt eyes on her, shifted until she could look at Root without craning her neck.

"Morning," said Shaw, testing the atmosphere, tasting it with her tongue and finding it thick and heady with all the emotion of the previous night and the cloud of something else, something darker. She leaned over and kissed Root, tasting the saltiness of her lips, feeling that dark presence linger.

"What happens now?" asked Root when Shaw pulled away.

"I don't know," said Shaw. "What do  _ you _ want to happen?"

Shaw knew what  _ she _ wanted, what she had finally left Texas for. And now, with no more secrets between them, nothing was holding them back. Nothing was holding  _ her _ back. Nothing but the truth.  _ I love you. _

"I'm-"  _ Dying. _

"I know," said Shaw quickly, not wanting to hear Root say it, not again. "But not today. Or tomorrow. We still have time."

"But-" Root began and now she turned away from Shaw and she realised the darkness cloying the room was all from Root, from the secret she had kept and could no longer hide from. "Won't it just... be harder in the end? If we-"

"I don't care," said Shaw. "I want to be with you, even if it's hard.  _ Especially _ if it's hard. You're not getting to do this alone."

_ And I don't need protecting. _ But she didn't say that aloud, not against this main fear of Root's, the reason why she had kept her secret for so long.

Root was silent for a moment, taking that in. And Shaw could see the pain and fear in her eyes, could see all the reasons why Root had run from this, why she had tried to protect Shaw with distance and hidden truths.

"I just wanted a good end," said Root. "I..." But she said no more and Shaw watched silently as the tears leaked, trailed down her cheek. When Root calmed, Shaw wiped them away with a gentle brush of her thumb and left her palm resting against Root's cheek.

"There is no good end," said Shaw.

Going down in a blaze of glory, with a bullet that was meant for someone else, a seemingly random car accident, or even at the hands of someone who was out to kill you no matter what... Illness, betrayal... Life and death... It didn't matter how it ended. What mattered was  _ now. _

"Stay with me," said Shaw, eyes locked with Root’s. Channeling all the hope she could bring until it sparked and caught life inside of Root, blossoming in the dawn of a new day. “Please.”

For a long time, neither of them moved.

Then, with a wordless kiss, Root gave her answer, gave herself to Sameen. And stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah... Basically I just wrote a 300k fic cos I wanted to explore a believable scenario where Shaw would cry and say "I love you" :P
> 
> I hope this ending is just as satisfying to you guys as it is to me. I've been building up to it for years. Part 3 has been long and exhausting because I wanted to make this last chapter feel as real as possible. I got there in the end and I'm happy that I did.
> 
> There's still an epilogue to post, which is basically some cheesy fluff that I really loved writing. Hopefully I'll get that edited and posted later on in the week.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting over the years. You've all been great and kept me going when all I wanted to do was give up.
> 
> -Kes


	56. Epilogue

4 Months Later

Crystal snowflakes fell from the gunmetal grey sky, landing on the city of New York and coating it in a thick, cold blanket of white.

Sameen Shaw cursed as snow soaked through her boots, making her feet numb, and hefted up her heavy burden onto her shoulder as she carried it down the street. She could see her apartment building in the distance, through the haze of white, and thought she could just about tolerate the cold for another block and no more.

She was starting to regret not following Root's suggestion and cajoling Fusco into helping her with her errand.

To make things worse, her phone started jingling from inside her pocket. Some obnoxious Christmas tune that made Shaw scowl and vow to keep her phone as far away from Root as possible in the future. Five months ago, she would have just ignored it until it was more convenient and her hands were free to actually get the damn thing out of her pocket. But that was five months ago and things were different now that she knew the truth about Root. And it was concern for Root that had her hastily thumbing through her pockets until she found her phone.

No 911 call from the Machine telling her it had happened, that Root's heart had finally given up, given in to its weakness and ceased to beat forever more.

But it wasn't the Machine and Shaw let out a sigh of relief that came out as a cloud of mist in the cold winter air.

That was her life now. Every time she wasn't with Root and her phone went off, her own heart would stop for a moment before she realised everything was fine and the relief set it going again.

The phone continued with its ridiculously catchy tune. Nine messages from Root. Ten... Eleven.

Shaw frowned, unlocked her phone and was met with a dozen images of puppies in varying sizes and breeds. Then the message:  _ Which one do you prefer? _

_ Why?  _ Shaw typed back. Then, not sure that was enough to convey her hesitant precaution and confusion, added another question mark before sending the message.

_ Just wondering. _

Shaw didn't believe that for a second. She was almost home so she didn't bother replying, and the weight and awkwardness of the bundle on her shoulder was making her muscles ache in angry protest. She slipped the phone away - making a mental note to change the message tone later and check to see what other surprises Root had probably left behind - and trudged the last few metres through the snow.

The warmth of the apartment building hit her as soon as she opened the door. A blessed relief from the cold. But now was the hard part: getting the thing she was carrying through the door and up the stairs. Because  _ of course _ the elevator had been out for three weeks and the landlord still hadn't bothered getting someone to fix it.  _ It's the holiday season!  _ had been his lame and very unconvincing excuse.

Their apartment was on the fifth floor; not far to climb normally, but when you were dragging the equivalent weight of an armchair behind you, five floors could feel like fifty.

_ Shoulda got the smaller one, _ Shaw thought as she grunted with the effort. By the time she reached the fifth floor, she was hot and sweating and it was hard to believe that outside it looked like a blizzard had blown through town.

Before she could even reach for the door handle, the door opened in a rush.

_ "Finally. _ You've been gone ages." Shaw scowled as she watched Root inhale deeply. "Mmm, I love that fresh pine smell."

_ Smells like a toilet, _ thought Shaw but decided it was best not to share that with Root. "It's just a tree." She rolled her eyes, but a smile fought to cross her lips all the same.

"I know," said Root, "but I've never had a real one." She had the energy of a gleeful child and Shaw could picture her as the kind of kid who shook and felt each present under the tree with the determination to guess at least one correctly.

Root helped Shaw drag the tree inside and into the corner of the living room that it had been designated, leaving a trail of green pine leaves to mark their progress. Shaw tried to do most of the lifting without being obvious about it. Root had agreed to take better care of herself, which meant no overexertion. But Shaw was too tired to have that conversation, that argument, right now. Besides, she could feel the irritation coming from Root as she studied her out of the corner of her eye with the keen sense of the doctor that she was slowly becoming again. Root didn't appreciate her fussing.

So she let Root help and soon they had the tree where they wanted it, leaning up against the wall, still wrapped in its netting. When she cut it free, the branches would spring out and, given the height of it, Shaw only now realised how overbearing it was going to be. It wasn't just going to take up a corner of the room, but a large chunk of it. Which included blocking the TV.

"Gonna have to move some furniture," said Shaw, staring at this piece of the outdoors that didn't belong in a small New York apartment. And yet, all over the world - in some places anyway - people were doing this every year.

"Couldn't get a bigger one?" Root smirked.

"Shut up," said Shaw. If they were doing this Christmas thing, then,  _ dammit, _ she was going to make sure they did it right. And that meant the biggest, greenest tree she could find.

Shaw shrugged of her snow covered jacket and kicked off her boots. Her socks were damp from the snow and her feet were starting to tingle from the welcomed warmth.

"Beagles or Labradors?" Root asked. She was on her phone, tree temporarily forgotten.

Shaw narrowed her eyes. "Why do you keep asking me about dogs?"

"Why do you keep avoiding the question?" said Root, her voice all mock innocence, but she sighed in the face of Shaw's skeptically raised eyebrow. "It's Christmas. Presents are usually part of the deal."

"No," said Shaw, realising immediately what Root had in mind. "We are  _ not _ getting her a dog. She'll get bored after a week and I'll be the one stuck looking after it. Get her a turtle. They're way more self-sufficient."

Root snorted. "A turtle? Turtles are lame."

Shaw bristled and snapped, "No dog."

"Oh my God," said Root, completely ignoring her and grinning like she had just discovered the world's biggest secret and now she was manic with glee. "You used to have a pet turtle, didn't you? Tiny baby Sameen and her pet turtle." She pulled an adoring face like she was looking down upon this smaller and younger version of Shaw right now. The kind of sickening look most people reserved for newborn babies or the moment of "I do" during a wedding.

Shaw glowered.

"Shut up," she said. "Are we decorating this thing or not?" She gestured at the tree and, mercifully, the look vanished from Root's face. Gone for now but probably not forgotten.

"I promised we would wait for Gen. She's not back for another hour. In the meantime...  whatever could we  _ do?" _ She smiled coyly and leaned down to kiss Shaw. At the last moment before their lips touched, Shaw pulled away and the puppy dog frown of disappointment elicited her own smile.

"I need to shower," Shaw said pointedly.

"Even better." Root grinned as she followed Shaw into the bathroom.

*

"I think Beagles are probably cuter," said Root. “But then again, what about Spaniels?”

Shaw's eyes flew open. She was lying naked, tied to the bed and the last words she wanted to hear out of Root's mouth was a debate about which breed of dog was "cuter". In fact, Shaw could think of a far more productive and enjoyable use for that mouth of hers.

"You're thinking about this  _ now?" _ said Shaw with all the impatience and frustration of being tied up for what seemed like hours with no pay off in sight.

Root shrugged. "I got bored."

Incoherent grumbling and cursing flew out of Shaw's mouth as she began to pull on the bindings around her wrists. Root was getting better at tying her up, but Sameen could always get out eventually if she wanted to.

"Well, if you're not going to get me off," she grumbled when she finally got one hand free. But Root grabbed her wrist before she could do anything with that free hand and forced it back up over her head.

"Patience, Sameen." Root was leaning across every inch of Shaw's body now. She was still wearing her underwear and Shaw could see goosebumps forming on the bare skin she could see. She longed for Root to take the rest off, to feel the press of her most intimate parts against her own. But Shaw wasn't the one in charge here. Not tonight.

Shaw grunted. She had run out of patience a long time ago and the throbbing between her legs had turned from pleasant anticipation to irate frustration. And Root still wouldn't give her what she needed. Still she teased.

"You know what I want, Sameen," Root murmured. Her lips were so close to Shaw's that she felt the warm breath on her skin. "Just tell me and I'll give you what  _ you _ want."

Such a simple exchange. A bargain, really, for the pleasure she could receive at Root's skillful hands. But Shaw was stubborn and she had lasted far longer than Root had anticipated. And yet everyone had their breaking point. Even Sameen Shaw.

Lips on her neck, teeth on her skin. Fingertips teasing the soft, sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Shaw groaned and could feel Root smile against her neck. A victory smile. Root knew she had won before Shaw had even realised she was about to give in.

"Fine," said Shaw through gritted teeth, "I'll tell you the name of my pet turtle."

Root pulled away to look at her, not quite managing to hide the triumphant grin. "Go on."

"Ugh," Shaw complained and swore again. The dull ache, the stiffness in her arms and wrists from being tied up for so long finally made her talk. "His name was..." The rest came out as an incoherent mumble.

Root flashed her a look of impatience.  _ Not gonna cut it, Sameen, _ that look said.  _ Remember our deal. _

Shaw cleared her throat. "His name was... Mr Shellington."

For a moment, Root only stared. Then her lips began to twitch and she was laughing before she could stop herself.

"Shut up." Shaw scowled. "I was five."

But Root kept on laughing, face pressed against the curve of Shaw's neck until she felt the vibrations of it through her whole body. Until she couldn't help a small smile herself.

When Root had calmed down enough to look at her again, face struggling for sobriety, Shaw quickly wiped the smile from her own face and gave Root her best glare.

"Okay, I told you. Now it's time for your part of the deal."

"Wait… wait," said Root, barely able to get the words out as fresh laughter overwhelmed her. "Did you call him 'Shelly' for short?"

Shaw growled and swiftly released her other hand. So quick that Root didn't realise until it was too late and could only yelp as Shaw gripped her upper arms and flipped them over so that she was the one straddling Root. So that she was the one in control.

Root looked up at her with a smirk, her eyes bright with amusement as if she had planned to be in this position all along. "Aren't you going to tie me up?" she asked innocently.

"No," said Shaw, "but I might gag you."

Root could only smile in anticipation.

Then there was no time for laughter. Only gasps for breath and moans of pleasure as Shaw ripped away the underwear still clinging to Root's slender body and proceeded to devour her.

*

Bondage and sex always made her hungry. So they put on some clothes and moved into the living room, Shaw making a beeline for the kitchen and making a pile of sandwiches. The apartment was cool, her legs bare and getting colder by the second, making Shaw hurry to be back at Root's side, curled up on the couch underneath a blanket, sharing the warmth. She was only dressed in an old hoodie and a pair of black lace panties that were most definitely not hers. Her own underwear had mysteriously disappeared and, judging by the appreciative gleam in Root's eyes as she returned from the kitchen, Shaw had a pretty good idea who the culprit might be.

The soft glowing light from their newly decorated Christmas tree gave the room a warm golden glow. The light sparkled off tinsel thrown over every surface imaginable. Snow globes and penguins dressed in Santa hats took their place centre stage on the bookshelves. Everyday, a new Christmas themed object seemed to appear, until the room looked like Father Christmas himself had thrown up in it.

Not to Shaw's taste, but if it made Root and Gen happy... she wasn't about to complain. Not out loud, anyway.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Shaw threw herself on the couch next to Root, sandwich halfway towards her mouth as she leaned over to get a look at the screen of the computer on Root's lap. At the same time, Root leaned down and stole a bite of Shaw's sandwich, eyes bright and daring Shaw to complain. Shaw ignored her.

"Puppies?" said Shaw.  _ "Still?" _

Root shrugged. Chewed, swallowed. "This is a big decision. Gotta get it right."

"So you're just gonna ignore what I said?"

"Turtles are still lame, Sameen," said Root airily.

Shaw scowled. "Not what I meant. Why are you so obsessed with getting her a dog?"

"I'm not." She tried to look indignant, but the lateness of the hour and the multiple tabs she had open, each displaying several images of different breeds of dog, stole it from her until all she could do was sigh. "I just... She's been through so much. Never getting to stay in one place, never feeling settled. A pet is a permanent thing. A commitment. Means we're gonna be here for a while and-"

Root cut herself off abruptly and stared at the screen.

Shaw thought she knew where the rest of Root's thoughts were going.  _ And she was dying. _

"Has she spoken to you about it? Since we told her?" Shaw asked. She could remember the conversation vividly, word for word. Mostly because they had planned exactly what they were going to say and Root had made them practice until she was satisfied that they had gotten it perfect. As perfect as bad news could be. But for all their rehearsals, in the end it didn't matter. Gen had already known. Not because she had been spying, but because she had grown up so much now, her intuition had developed a cruel edge to it. She had experienced the harshness of life and knew death intimately.

"I could have years," Root tried to say, tried to fall back on her familiar speech, fighting the nerves, the emotions. She lost that last battle when Gen stood up and hugged her.

Years, months, weeks... A lot of time or none at all, but they would make the most of every second.

"No," said Root now. "Has she spoken to you?"

Shaw shook her head, unsure if that was a good or a bad thing.

Root was right, though. All their lives were filled with uncertainty and the inevitable rushing towards them. And she was right that Gen didn't deserve that. But Shaw thought there was a better way of fixing it which didn't involve a pet.

Her mind thinking hard, Shaw paid no attention as Root finally gave up sneaking bites and snatched the entire sandwich from Shaw's slack grip.

*

Now that they were doing it properly, with decorations and presents and turkey with all the trimmings, the big day finally loomed before them, seemingly out of nowhere.

Root approached it with an air of cautious anticipation. All her previous Christmases - the ones she had spent with her mother, if her mother had actually happened to remember - had been small, disappointing affairs. Now she had a real tree with presents underneath, a family to open them with. Snow outside, hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows in the safe warmth of the apartment. She had even tried eggnog, decided it was gross, and poured the remainder of her cup down the kitchen sink when Shaw wasn't looking.

The only person more excited than Root herself was Gen. It had been awhile since she'd had a proper Christmas. Shaw and Harold had both tried during her time at boarding school, but Shaw was Shaw and Harold had always been awkward around Gen, everything he said or did ended up being misplaced, despite being genuine. He never could get it right with her. And Gen, tough kid that she was, grateful back then to be given this second chance away from her cousin's drug filled apartment, had never complained.

But she was still a kid and all kids loved the idea of Christmas. Root saw herself in Gen, in all those barren, lonely winters. This year was going to be different. This year was going to be better.

She sat by the light of the Christmas tree, drinking her second hot cocoa and watching as the minutes slipped by. For once, it didn't feel like time was running away from her. Indeed, she was the one moving  _ towards _ something.

"Why are you up so late?"

It was Shaw. She rubbed her tired eyes as she came out of the bedroom, unable to wipe the concern off her face in time before Root spotted it. It was always there now. Always made Root fill up with regret and sadness. But not tonight. For tonight and tomorrow there would only be joy and presents and so much food their stomachs would burst.

"Couldn't sleep," said Root.  _ Didn't want to sleep. _ Worried that, if she slept, she would somehow sleep the day through and miss all the important bits.

Instead of going back to bed, Shaw joined her own the couch. The tree's fairy lights reflected in her eyes, making them glisten in a way that Root had only ever seen naturally once before.  _ That  _ night. This very spot. Words spoken with so much truth, so much heart.

"Listen," said Root. She was whispering and Shaw raised an eyebrow.

"If you're listening for Santa Claus," said Shaw, "then I hate to break it to you, but..."

Root scowled playfully. It was the silence she was listening to, the calmness. The calmness of home and winter time that seeped through her skin, made her warm inside.

"It's almost midnight." Root smiled and sipped her cocoa.

"You're not going to start singing again, are you?" Shaw asked warily. She'd already had to endure through Root and Gen singing every Christmas song they knew as they decorated the apartment and it was clear it was an experience she hoped would never happen again.

"No," said Root and added,  _ "not right now," _ under her breath.

They sat and watched the clock sitting on the stand by the TV - even it hadn't gone through Christmas unscathed; wrapped in tinsel around the edges so thick it looked fluffy from a distance. A deep red that seemed to soak up the light from the tree, from the moon outside. Slowly, the second hand ticked, the minute hand followed. Midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Root." Shaw's eyes left the clock to find Root's and she was met with a smile and a kiss, soft and long as Root let her lips linger like it ached to be apart.

"Do you want your present?"

Shaw shrugged. "Sure."

They hadn't talked about getting gifts for each other, only for Gen, and Root wasn't expecting anything in return. She slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper, handing it to Sameen.

Was that a flash of disappointment in her eyes? Or just surprise? It was gone too fast for Root to tell and she watched as Shaw unfolded the note.

"Wow," she said flatly, "an address. And the name of some dude I don't know."

Root smiled and explained. "I asked the Machine to give you a number. I figured you would wanna skip most of the annoying Christmas morning stuff. You should be done in time for food, though."

Shaw stared at the name for a moment. It had been awhile since either of them had worked a number; a flashback to the good old days and a chance for Shaw to have some fun. Root knew, even though Shaw hid it well, that she was barely tolerating all this Christmas stuff. It just wasn’t something she did or cared about, not since she was a kid. And even then Root struggled to picture tiny Sameen, donned in a Santa hat and surrounded by presents and family and noise.

“Thanks,” said Shaw.

“Shoot some kneecaps for me.”

“Just make sure Reese doesn’t overcook the turkey if I’m not there to supervise. And tell him you’re not allowed to help in the kitchen under any circumstances.”

_ “Hey!” _ Root protested. “I can fry stuff now.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow. “Do  _ not _ fry the turkey.”

“Fine,” Root relented grudgingly, “I’ll keep out of the kitchen.”

“Good,” Shaw muttered, looking like she was going to say more, but hesitating. She began to pick at a loose thread on her t-shirt, not looking at Root. “I, uh… I got something for you too.”

Root stilled in surprise; too shocked to even comment on the colour rising in Shaw’s cheeks. She hopped up off the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. Root had no idea what to expect and felt a nervous but excited churning in her stomach as she waited for Shaw to return.

Only a few seconds passed and she was back, carrying something behind her back. Root had visions of tearing open cheesy Christmas paper, neatly wrapped around the box underneath. But what Shaw pulled out from behind her wasn’t wrapped. Wasn’t even in a box.

“An envelope?” said Root, just as flatly as Shaw had commented on her own present. Shaw handed her the unfascinating brown envelope, the kind that could be found in any office all over the country. At least it was a big envelope. “Bow’s a nice touch,” she added, fingers teasing the red ribbon material that Shaw had stuck to the front of the envelope. Underneath, she had written  _ For Root _ in that familiar neat scrawl.

She opened it tentatively, wondering wildly what it could possibly be. She was so distracted by her own wonderment that she didn’t notice Shaw shifting nervously from foot to foot.

The envelope contained a thin pile of printed sheets stapled together at one corner. It took her a moment to realise what it was, to comprehend the official words, the names written upon it, with a gap underneath waiting patiently for their signatures.

_ Adoption papers. _

“Your name’s on this,” said Root dully, not knowing what else to say. What else to think.

Sameen Shaw and Samantha “Root” Groves. Adopting Genrika Zhirova. Their girl. Their  _ daughter. _

“I know.” Shaw shrugged, swallowed. The pink tinge to her cheeks had gone and now she just looked pale. At once Root realised what she was thinking, that Shaw thought she had made a mistake. “You kept talking about wanting her to feel settled, to know that this is permanent. I figured there was nothing more permanent than this.”

She shrugged again. It made her look smaller somehow, like an awkward teenager who had just been caught doing something they shouldn’t and now didn’t know how to get out of the impending trouble they were in.

“Shaw, I-”

But words failed Root. Instead she stared at the legal document in her hand and only looked up when Shaw continued to speak with an overwhelming haste as she tried to explain.

“I want you to know that she’ll be taken care of. That I’ll take care of her when you’re-”

Root stood up abruptly and threw her arms around Sameen. Neither of them needed to hear the rest of the sentence, not when they were thinking it all the time anyway.

“Are you sure?” Root muttered into Shaw’s hair. She herself was sure long before the thought of making it legal entered her mind and she was eager to scrawl her signature across the page. But Shaw… She had to be sure this was something Shaw wanted, something she could commit to.

“It’s not like we’re getting rid of her anytime soon, anyway,” Shaw muttered lightly. “May as well make it official.”

Root grinned and pulled back so she could look into Shaw’s eyes. She saw so much there now. Saw the truth; the contentment (the  _ happiness), _ the love and the surety. Root kissed her hard and felt it all too. Felt it in the way Shaw’s lips felt moist against hers, the way her hands tugged at Root to pull her closer. And she knew then that this wasn’t just Shaw’s way of making sure Gen was taken care of, wasn’t just a way to give Root peace of mind.

A seemingly mundane envelope but within it was hope. Hope for the future. Something to fight for.

For the first time in over a year, ever since Budapest, Root felt that spark of hope. It swelled inside of her like a fire burning through a forest. Shaw had ignited it on her return to New York, but only now did it seem to catch hold, letting the blaze roam free.

Neither of them could predict what the future would bring, just as neither of them could control it. And maybe Shaw couldn’t fix her, couldn’t take all the pain away. But she sure as hell was going to try.

“What’s going on? Are you guys opening presents?”

It was Gen. Root pulled away from Shaw to find her peering at them blearily through a tangled mess of hair.

“Should we?” Root asked Shaw. She was still clutching the adoption papers, still feeling them, still checking it was real. If she let go, she feared it would all disappear in a heartbeat, never to have existed. Lost like some forgotten dream.

Shaw shrugged. “I guess it’s her decision too.”

Both of them were smiling: Root with a giddy glee, Shaw’s small but genuine in response.

Gen scowled at them both and yawned. “You guys are acting weird. Did you make eggnog again?”

Root scrunched her nose up in disgust. “No, just cocoa. Shaw was giving me a Christmas present. Wanna see?”

A noncommittal shrug of the shoulders. Clearly Gen was only interested in discovering her own gifts. But when Root handed her the papers, when her eyes focused enough to push back the haze of sleep, she stared, wide eyed, her mouth falling open in surprise. Root bit back a smile. It was the reaction she had been expecting, a mirror of her own: shock, disbelief at this unexpected but wonderful thing.

“It’s only if you want us to,” said Root hastily, unable to quiet the doubt in her head. She glanced at Shaw, who didn’t seem concerned at all. In fact, Root could see the amusement in her eyes, the pride. She had done this for them, brought them all together, finally, and was making sure they would never be apart again.

“Of course I want you to!” Gen blurted. Then a high pitched sound left her mouth, somewhere between a scream and a squeal and then she was hugging them both so hard that Root could barely breathe. Someone’s elbow wedged into her side, her toes stubbed against a foot, but she didn’t care, didn’t know where she began and the others ended. She was here, with Sameen, with Gen, happy and whole, her little family together at last.

“We still have to sign the papers, you know,” Shaw mumbled with a grunt. Root could barely make her out with with her face pressed somewhere at Gen’s side. 

Gen finally released them. “I’ll get a pen.” She ran off to her room like a whirlwind of air.

“That kid’s got way too much energy for the middle of the night,” Shaw complained, but she was still smiling and Root wondered if they would ever stop, if the smiles would be branded on their faces forever.

Midnight on Christmas day. It was hard to imagine anything going wrong again. Not the unexpected; they knew what was coming, what was waiting for them all in the end. But tonight it didn’t seem so scary, so overwhelming, like staring into a gaping void and knowing you were going to fall in, unable to resist. Not knowing when, but soon. Always soon.

But she wasn’t alone. And that void, that endless abyss, seemed to get a little further away each day, as if a hand was holding onto hers so tightly it was pulling her away from the edge, away, away until she was safe.

Gen reappeared with a pen and hovered beside Root and Shaw as they signed innocuous pieces of paper that would change all their lives forever. Shaw signed first and there was no backing out after that. Root took the pen from her, still warm from Shaw’s grip. This cheap plastic tube was about to change everything. She felt like she should be using something with more flare; a fountain pen, a fluffy feather quill and some ink. Her hand trembled slightly as pen met paper and she looked up, looked at Gen’s eager face - all happy kid with not a care in the world, Root was glad to see even if it would only last the night and the day to follow - then at Shaw. Shaw who nodded encouragement, a smile that said,  _ You can do this.  _ We _ can do this. _

Root scrawled her name. And that was it done. They were parents now and no going back. She waited for something to shift inside of her, for a weight to tug at her insides with anxiety. How could she, Root, aka Samantha Groves, aka hired assassin, aka walking mess of a person, do  _ this? _ How could she take care of Gen, help her grow up and become her own person, a person as far removed from who Root had been as possible?

But the feeling never came. Because the feeling was already there, already manageable. All along she had been doing what a parent would. Protecting Gen, shaping her into a person that didn’t kill. A person who was brave and strong, who could fight through all the bad and come out of it at the other end, ready for the next fight.

Shaw was right. They were just making what they already knew official. A piece of paper not for them, but for the outside world. A document that declared,  _ See! You can’t take her from us now. _

“So,” said Gen once everything was signed and put safely back in its envelope. “Can I open  _ my _ presents now.”

“No,” said Root and Shaw at the same moment, sharing the same look between each other:  _ Oh yeah, we got this. _

“But-”

“Russians don’t celebrate Christmas until the 7th of January, you know,” Shaw said casually, as if she were just making light conversation. Only Root could see the cunning amusement that sizzled within her eyes. It only got brighter as Gen began to protest loudly.

“I’m not waiting that long.”

“Two weeks or one night, kid.”  _ Your choice, _ Shaw’s tired look said. If Gen began opening presents now, none of them would ever get any sleep. But Root was just looking forward to another night curled up beside Sameen.

“Fine,” Gen grumbled. “I’ll go back to bed.”

With an exaggerated huff, Gen went back to her room, although Root suspected she wouldn’t be doing much sleeping for the rest of the night. She didn’t think she would be either. It was a curious thought; it had been a long time since she had felt the anticipation for something so normal. This piece of life she had never before got to live. But now she did. Shaw made sure she did. And she would keep on making sure.

“Hang on,” said Root, taking Shaw’s hand and tugging her towards the soft glow of the Christmas tree. “I’ve got something else for you.” She had been going to wait until the morning, but, right now, Root wanted to give Sameen Shaw the world. The second gift was all she had, though, and it would have to do. Root got down on her knees to crawl beneath the tree, hands searching. She knew it from the others without checking the label. The plain dark red paper, no reindeers or Santas or penguins in sight. Very unholidaylike but, of course, exactly what Shaw preferred.

“I didn’t get you a second present,” Shaw announced as she took the small box in both hands and tore it open.

“You did,” Root murmured. They shared a look and Root hoped Shaw knew just how much her presence here with her was a gift all in itself.

“New gun. Neat,” said Shaw, in that same flat voice as before. But Root could tell by the way she pulled it from its box, held it in her hands and aimed down the sights, that Shaw appreciated it. She had always liked guns. “Never had a gold gun before,” she added, eyes inspecting the shiny surface, watching as the light from the tree ricocheted off it like bullets of light.

Root grinned. “Gotta make sure my girl has the best bling.”

*

The apartment had never felt so alive. Music played and the kitchen was full of food and smells, presents under the tree, and everyone who was important to Root all under one roof. All safe.

Even Harold had come all the way back from Italy, Grace at his side. If she’d had trouble adjusting to the truth about who Harold really was, it didn’t show. Although Root suspected Grace hadn’t forgiven him easily.

She had spent weeks, once, stalking Grace to get to Harold Finch, learning everything about her life, what kind of person she was. Maybe she wouldn’t forgive easily, Root thought, but she would come to understand his motives with time, learn how the lies had hurt him just as much as they had hurt her. They would be okay. Now that the truth was out there, bright and unyielding, the shadows of the lies would be forever chased away.

Lionel and Lee arrived first, wearing matching Christmas jumpers, carrying presents and enough desserts to last them a week. Then Reese arrived with the turkey, Zoe behind him with a bottle of champagne in each hand.

Daniel was the last, arriving shortly after Harold and Grace with Bear beside them, his cheeks pink from the cold, his jacket dusted with the snow that had started to fall again. He walked in and grinned at the tree like he knew Shaw was the one that had carefully picked it out. Root could imagine the teasing that would come later over turkey and stuffing, Shaw glowering in annoyance but giving back as good as she got.

Most of the furniture had been pushed aside to accommodate the large dining table. Root, with Gen’s help, had spent the morning decorating it; Christmas crackers and tinsel and glittering plastic snowflakes that made the surface shine and dance.

“I’m hungry,” Gen complained about a half hour after everyone had arrived. She and Lee had gotten quickly bored discussing their presents and examining all of Gen’s. But there was still one more gift to go…

Root smirked to herself. “We’re still waiting for Shaw. She’ll be back soon.”

Gen huffed and threw herself onto the couch at Harold’s side. He was conversing quietly with Daniel, but his eyes kept darting to Grace across the room, like he couldn’t believe she was really here. Root knew that feeling, knew it intimately and her eyes swarmed the room, one person short and her heart willed Shaw to come home soon, safe and whole.

Then:  _ bedroom. _

Root frowned, but beyond that didn’t react to the cryptic message in her ear. She quietly slipped out of the room. Everyone too busy talking and drinking and being merry to notice her leave.

She shut the bedroom door behind her just as Shaw was pulling herself through the window after climbing up the fire escape

“We have a front door, ya know,” said Root.

Shaw looked up at her and grinned before turning to shut the window. It had been open barely thirty seconds and already the room was freezing.

“Didn’t think my outfit would be appreciated.” She gestured at herself, at the all black clothes; the torn material at her knees, the unmistakable dark stains on the front of her coat. Blood, but not her own.

Root thought she knew who Shaw meant when she said her current state wouldn’t be appreciated. Especially not with Grace here for the first time. The last thing Harold would want was to give her a reminder of the life he had left her for. The life he had also given up to return to her.

“Fun number?” Root asked playfully, wiping away a smudge of grime from Shaw’s cheek.

Shaw shrugged and began to shed her dirty clothes, placing her new gold gun carefully on the nightstand at her side of the bed. “It had its moments. I just need a few minutes to get changed and cleaned up. Reese better have cooked the turkey right.”

Root had no idea, but it smelled and looked good enough to her. Sameen had higher standards, however.

“You just gonna stand there and watch me?”

“Yup.”

It took Shaw longer than a few minutes, mainly because Root kept trying to force a Santa had on her head and Shaw kept fighting back, ignoring the, “I bet it looks cuter than a beanie” and “Just for  _ five  _ minutes?” Because they both knew it would take Root less than five seconds for her to snap a picture, have it uploaded to a secure server somewhere that Shaw would never find let alone be able to break into and delete.

Finally, she was ready - fresh black clothes with no read to be seen - and Root went out ahead of her to tell the others it was time for dinner.

She made it to the edge of the hallway and stopped in her tracks, listening to the faint bubble of chatter; each voice indistinct, but every now and then someone would laugh and someone else would reply in a louder voice and Root would know,  _ that’s Gen, that’s Daniel. They’re here. They’re all here.  _ I’m _ here. _

“Hey,” Shaw murmured. Root hadn’t noticed she was behind her until she felt arms around her waist, that gruff voice in her ear. “You okay?”

Root nodded. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling, how whole and right this moment felt. How complete. How it gave her hope. But then Shaw squeezed her tightly and let go. Took her hand. “C’mon,” she said and tugged Root towards the living room. “Lets eat.”

*

After food - lots and lots of food - and wine and Christmas crackers banging open, squabbles over who got the bigger turkey leg (in the end, Reese had to separate Shaw and Fusco, placing them at opposite ends of the table where Shaw couldn’t reach to stab him with her fork), it was finally time for one last present.

Root rose to her feet at the same time as Shaw snuck off to the bedroom, but she was too excited to notice, too wrapped up on her own scheming cleverness. Only Gen saw them both leave and smirked knowingly into the remainders of her apple pie.

A few minutes later, Root was sneaking back into the apartment, her back to everyone so they couldn’t see what she was carrying. By this time, the others had sensed something was happening and they glanced between Root and Shaw - carrying a cardboard box under one arm; holes cut into the sides and a large bow on top to try and make it seem more festive - their heads swivelling back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.

“Gen-”

“Merry-”

Silence as Root and Shaw looked at each other across the room.

Then:

“What is  _ that?” _ asked Shaw, although it was pretty obvious to everyone what Root was holding.

As if knowing it was being talked about, the puppy in Root’s arms gave a little bark and a whine, struggling to be free.

Everyone’s eyes watched the excited thing, white fur with coppery-reds covering the face and long floppy ears. A Spaniel, so similar to the many images Root had texted to Shaw over the weeks before Christmas.

“We said no dog,” said Shaw bitingly, nipping at everyone’s ears like the cold frost outside. Meanwhile, Gen gushed, “Oh my God, is he for me?”

“What’s in the box?” Root fought to keep the smirk off her face. She released the dog and he immediately bounced towards Gen’s open arms, licking her face as she giggled with glee, an enthusiasm like he had always known he belonged to Gen and his whole life so far was just time passing, waiting for her to arrive.

Shaw scowled at the two of them and clutched her box defensively while everyone else watched with varying degrees of confusion and amusement.

“Yeah, what’s in the box, Shaw?” asked Gen.

Mumbling incoherently, Shaw reluctantly handed her the gift.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” said Root, ignoring Shaw’s glower. They both watched as Gen lifted the lid from the box and when Gen exclaimed, “Cool, a turtle!” Shaw grinned in triumph while Root was the one to scowl in disbelief.

“Told you turtles are cool,” Shaw muttered.

Root ignored her as the puppy yelped at this new arrival. His calls woke up a sleeping Bear, his head lifting up lazily as he responded with a bark of his own. Gen, occupied with carefully taking the turtle out of its box, didn’t notice as the puppy padded off to explore.

“Do they have names?”

“He’s Max,” said Root, still glowering at the turtle with distaste.

“Lame,” said Shaw. “The turtle’s a girl so-”

“So Mrs Shellington, then?” Root smirked in the face of the fiercest glare she had ever seen. But, thankfully for Shaw, everyone else was too occupied with the animals to hear Root reveal Shaw’s deepest and darkest secret.

Root was going to pay for that later. And she was looking forward to it.

A loud yelp caught both of their attentions. Neither of them had seen it, but evidently the puppy had walked up to Bear and, without ceremony, bit him obnoxiously on the nose.

And, of course, Bear was trained well. He knew what to do in the event of an attack.

“Oh my-” said Harold. “Bear,  _ no!” _

But Bear wasn’t listening as he chased the younger, more energetic dog around the room. Between people’s legs, under the table and, finally, towards the tree.

“Uh oh,” said Daniel, who was the closest, but his reflexes weren’t quick enough as the tree began to wobble violently. Then, finally, it tilted onto its side with a heavy thud and a crash of glass as it hit the edge of the table. Plates went flying, drinks spilled on the table as their containers broke into a thousand tiny pieces. What was left of Christmas dinner was on the floor. What hadn’t reached the floor was on Reese’s lap and he scowled at the the cream and custard now covering his most comfortable pair of slacks.

For a moment, everyone just stared. Then all at once everyone’s eyes turned to Root and Shaw.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” said Shaw adamantly.

“It’s Gen’s dog,” said Root and pointed at a startled and open mouthed Gen.

“Wow,” said Fusco, whose Christmas jumper was now covered in red wine, “you guys are gonna make  _ great  _ parents.”

“Shut up, Lionel,” echoed Root and Shaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno if I'm entirely happy with this cos I'm so used to writing angst the fluff feels weird. And I'm always worried people are not gonna get my humour. Anyway this was so so fun to write (and think about for the past three years). It's changed slightly from what I had initially planned (which is good, cos the damn thing would be even longer) but it's still got that core idea of hope and fluffy happy fam good times.
> 
> Also Max the dog is named after Lamachine, who gets a mention cos I doubt any of this would ever have left the outlining stage let alone finally be written and done if it wasn't for him. He's read several incoherent outlines and listened to me freak out over sentences for three years without complaint. Anytime I've had doubts, he's been the one to encourage me to keep me going and remind why I wanted to write this story and the ending I was aiming for. He's the bestest. Everyone should get a Max <3
> 
> I hope everyone has a good Christmas (for those of you who celebrate). Thanks for reading and sorry for all the cheese ~Kes


End file.
